Archive of Our Own ^beta

Robin is leaving tomorrow. It’s a one way ticket to Copenhagen. She’ll probably stay there for a few weeks then move on to another city and keep going until she runs out of money or finds what she’s looking for. Chrissy isn’t really sure what it is exactly that Robin is looking for, it doesn’t make much sense and Chrissy will probably spend the rest of her life trying to understand. But it doesn’t matter if Chrissy “gets it,” all that matters is that it will make Robin happy.

When she first found out, Chrissy tried to focus on the things that irritated her, and she tried coming up with a list of arguments she and Robin have had. She focused on how Robin would let the dishes pile up, and take forever to fold her laundry. She thought about how loud Robin could be when coming home sometimes, and how her cooking is plain dastardly and should be criminal. Because it’s missing those good things that will drive you mad.

But they only ever argued about things like which two characters should date in a show they were watching, or if they should order sushi or pizza. And Chrissy likes doing the dishes, but hates vacuuming—and Robin always takes care of vacuuming. And Chrissy also lets her laundry stay unfolded for a bit too long, so she doesn’t really have room to talk. And unless she was asleep, she loved hearing her from the other room and knowing Robin got home safe. And Chrissy enjoys cooking for Robin, the satisfied hums and “thank you”s and praises... needless to say, trying to think of the things she wouldn’t miss just went to show she’d miss everything.

So she tried not thinking about it at all, living in denial and delusion and pretending that nothing was going to change and Robin wasn’t leaving. Eddie called her crazy every time they were on the phone, and maybe she was, but she’d rather be crazy than miserable. Denial faded quickly when Robin started packing things away. Not everything was going to storage, Chrissy managed to convince her that she’d take care of packing everything else away. She wouldn’t, of course, she fully intended to hoard Robin’s things like a greedy dragon.

The thought of Robin leaving scares her, in so many ways. But what terrifies her the most is the fear that she will love Robin forever, but that they will never stand together in the same room again. And that she will ache and want and yearn chronically—and to Robin she will be reduced to a fragment of something meaningful, a name that sounds familiar and a face that couldn’t be picked out of a lineup. The fear that Chrissy will remember Robin for longer than she's known her, and that she’ll never be able to come to terms with it.

And she will remember. There’s not a universe that exists where Chrissy forgets Robin.

It’s a really good name, Robin. Suits her perfectly, if you ask Chrissy. With her restless spirit, and heart full of wanderlust, and her unshakeable desire to fly away; She’s always seeking freedom and the next adventure. Chrissy always knew Robin couldn’t stay still forever. Stagnation has never suited her.

Robin knows all these languages that Chrissy couldn’t even begin to try and understand, and she’s not getting much use out of them hanging out in Indiana. Europe will be good for her, will let her spread her wings and fucking soar. But Chrissy will miss Robin like a lost limb, and will no doubt feel phantom pains until they see each other again. If they see each other again.

Hopefully they’ll see each other again.

It’s a 6:00 am flight, and Chrissy has to drop her off a bit early so she’s there in time to make it to the gate before boarding. She’s not bringing much, just a 40-liter backpack with the basic necessities. It’s packed already, leaning against the wall next to the door to their apartment—

Chrissy’s apartment, that is. Starting tomorrow.

She can see the bag from where she’s sitting on the couch, pretending to watch DuckTales with Robin cuddled up to her side, head resting on Chrissy’s shoulder. It taunts her, all shiny and new and going with Robin rather than being left behind. Chrissy regrets getting it for her, but Robin would have gotten herself one anyway, so not buying it wouldn’t have been much help but at least this way it’s kind of like a part of her is going with Robin.

“I’m gonna miss you so much.” It’s quiet, and Chrissy almost doesn’t pick it up. If she was paying closer attention to the TV, or less attention to Robin, she probably wouldn’t have caught it.

Scrooge McDuck is saying something about thieves and politicians and Chrissy is doing her best not to confess her undying love.

It’d be pretty shitty to tell Robin now. The terrible timing might make it sound like Chrissy is asking her to stay. She’s not, she would never ask that of Robin—but there’s a part of her that just wants Robin to know. Robin deserves to know she’s loved.

And of course she knows she’s loved. By Steve, and Eddie, and Nancy, and the “kids”, and her parents and—and—and... Robin already knows she’s loved.

But, specifically, she deserves to know that Chrissy loves her. Not just platonically, but more. Romantically doesn’t really seem to cover it either, but whatever it is, Robin deserves to know.

She probably already does. It’s pretty obvious. Or at least it’s obvious to everyone else. Apparently, Chrissy looks at Robin like nothing else matters. To be fair, she has a completely reasonable excuse for that: nothing else matters.

“I’m gonna miss you too,” Chrissy says instead, tucking her head down to press her nose against Robin’s hair. She smells like honey and lavender. She needs to remember what Robin smells like. Which sounds a bit crazy even in her own mind, but she knows she’ll be switching her shower products to the ones Robin uses, just to hold on to whatever she can. The same way she knows she’ll be sleeping in Robin’s bed until it doesn’t smell like her anymore. The same way she knows she’ll be hoarding the clothes Robin leaves behind, and storing some in plastic bags so they don’t lose their smell as quickly.

Maybe Chrissy is a little crazy. Or stupid. Or maybe she’s just in love.

“Send postcards, yeah?”

Chrissy leans back, and Robin burrows into Chrissy’s neck, nodding her head and rubbing her nose gently against Chrissy’s pulse point. Then, miraculously, Chrissy feels soft lips press against her skin. Her heart stops for a moment, and she wonders if Robin notices the inconsistent beating. She wonders if Robin’s heart is doing the same.

At the first hint that Robin is going to move away, Chrissy’s hand flies up, from where it was tracing lazy circles on Robin’s arm, to press her head back into place. It’s hard to tell if she’s breathing hard or not at all, but Robin isn’t trying to pull away anymore so she counts that as a win. Instead, she’s leaning back in and kissing a trail down Chrissy’s neck, stopping just above her collar bone to suck a hickey and all Chrissy can do is sigh, tangle her fingers in Robin’s hair, and think, I hope it never fades.

Lightly tugging at Robin’s hair, Chrissy pulls her away. They stare at each other for a moment and Chrissy does her best to decipher the look on Robin’s face. It’s sad and longing and hungry. Her eyes are wide and glistening, slightly wobbly as she searches Chrissy’s face, waiting for something to happen. Her lips are shiny and parted ever so slightly. Her jaw is tight and her eyebrows are raised just a bit. And Chrissy really wants to kiss her. It’s entirely possible she’s never wanted anything more.

So she does. And it’s everything and nothing like what she’s imagined, what she’s dreamed. It’s a little awkward, with the way Robin is craning her neck to reach and Chrissy’s eyes are wide open because if she closes them for even a second this all might disappear, or she’ll wake up, or Robin will reveal it’s all a joke, or… something that’s not worth the risk. But Robin wraps her arms around Chrissy’s neck and situates herself better, straddling Chrissy’s lap and deepening the kiss, and Chrissy’s eyes finally close as she pulls Robin in impossibly closer. If it is going to end she should at least enjoy this while it lasts.

This is both the beginning and the end and it must be savored. Because Robin leaves tomorrow. And Chrissy does not.

There’s a taste of salt mixed in with the taste of Robin and suddenly they aren’t kissing anymore. They’re just resting their foreheads against each other and breathing in unison and something wet and cold trails down Chrissy’s cheek, and she opens her eyes and Robin is crying too. Eyelashes dark and clumped together, eyes red and remnant mascara and eyeliner spearing down her face.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Robin says again, and it sounds a lot like “I love you.”

“I’m gonna miss you too,” Chrissy responds, and it definitely means “I love you.”

They don’t say anything else. Robin just collapses into Chrissy and they stay there, wrapped around each other and silently crying as Launchpad crashes yet another plane and miraculously manages to still keep his job as Scrooge's pilot. There’s some symbolism in there somewhere, but there’s no point in thinking about it too much right now.

They take turns sniffling into each others’ shoulders and pressing soft kisses to whatever is most accessible.

They should go to bed soon. Peel away from each other and turn off the TV. They have to be up pretty early in the morning to get to the airport on time. Maybe that’s why Chrissy doesn’t want to go to sleep, because the sooner she does the sooner Robin is gone.

And yeah, maybe she’ll come back one day but Chrissy doubts it. Robin was never meant to stay. She’s meant to be free. Meant to chase storms and the sun and the wind and just… be free. Chrissy can’t keep Robin in a cage, refuses to, in fact, but still—

“I don’t want you to go,” Chrissy sniffles. She regrets it immediately because if Robin stays it will be all her fault and she refuses to be the reason Robin doesn’t do this, so she amends her statement. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Robin pulls away, her expression an indecipherable mix of emotions. Her lips part, then close, as if the words are on the tip of her tongue but never quite make it out. The way she’s looking at Chrissy—eyes searching, hesitant yet hopeful—it’s easy to believe that if Chrissy asked, Robin would cancel her flight without a second thought.

It’s tempting. Really fucking tempting. She could do it, be selfish and ask Robin to stay with her forever, but she loves Robin too much to do that. She wants Robin to be happy, and that means leaving. Chrissy doesn’t want Robin to stay, not really. It’s just a shame that she has to keep reminding herself of that, over and over, as if saying it enough times will make it feel true.

“I’m not—I’m not asking you to stay, I’d never do that. I’m not going to stand in your way or anything I just—I wanted to tell you, I guess.” She still doesn’t say “I love you.” It’s too final. It’d hurt too much. More excuses to keep her from admitting that maybe she’s just a coward. “I just—Robin, I just really don’t want to say goodbye.”

Love is always felt more when it’s leaving. Chrissy knows this to be true of all forms of love. When Eddie left she felt it too, but this is so much more. Not that she doesn’t love Eddie, he’s the other half of her soul, just that this is different. It’s like—Eddie completes her, but Robin makes her real. Which maybe doesn’t entirely make sense, but she’s not really sure how to explain it. It’s like life started when she met Eddie, but living began with Robin.

“Maybe if I took a few of my things out of my bag I could just pack you instead,” Robin laughs, something sad and forced and wet. “Or I can just carry you around in my pocket or something. Then—then we don’t have to say goodbye.”

“Okay,” Chrissy agrees without thinking, wiping a tear from Robin’s cheek with her thumb.

But when she really thinks about it, what’s keeping her here? She isn’t close with her family. They never really recovered after Chrissy came out. And while she and Eddie are platonic soulmates, close enough to rival Robin and Steve, he’s all the way in L.A. chasing his dreams with the rest of Corroded Coffin. What’s a couple more hours tacked onto their already long-distance friendship? They’ll be headlining world tours in no time and they can all meet up in some random European city.

Her job? The lease? Neither are exactly anchors. Her boss is a nightmare, and she can tattoo pretty much anywhere. She’s got a good bit of money saved, and the lease only has a month left before renewal so it’s not like that’s keeping her. She already has a passport, and it wouldn’t take long to pack. She’ll have to get a new bag when they get to Copenhagen, her old hard-sided suitcase isn’t great for hostel hopping…

Obviously she’d have to figure out what to do with all of hers and Robin’s stuff, but Max and El could probably help take care of it. Hell, maybe they could take the whole apartment. They’ve been wanting to move in together and get to the city for a while now, and the landlord is chill and likes Chrissy and Robin. They’d probably let Max and El take the place if Chrissy asked.

So, really, even though she agreed to go with Robin without much thought, there’s no real reason to stay. This city isn’t home. This apartment isn’t home. Robin is home.

So she says it again. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

The second it’s out of her mouth, doubt crashes in. It was probably a joke. Robin is just being sappy or something, probably. Sentimental and dorky. Chrissy’s stomach twists and ties itself into a knot. She’s imposing, probably misreading the whole thing. Robin will laugh, say something about how sweet it is, but that of course she didn’t mean it—

But then Robin is kissing her. Hands gently cradling her face, holding her like something precious. She’s smiling so wide that the kiss is impossibly awkward, messy, breathless.

And Chrissy laughs into it, kissing back moving her hands from Robin’s face to her waist. She deepens the kiss, pulling Robin closer by her hips and making her rock. A startled gasp escapes Robin and then she’s moaning into it, grinding into Chrissy’s lap with no need for encouragement. She breaks the kiss and starts trailing down past Chrissy’s jaw, finding the small hickey she left earlier and biting it lightly before leaving a trail of licks, and nips, and kisses along the contours of Chrissy’s neck.

Robin’s hands travel down and snake their way under Chrissy’s shirt, slowly and tentatively asking for permission. Frankly, she doesn’t need to ask. Chrissy moves one hand to cover one of Robin’s and moves them up, encouraging Robin and breathing out a begging, “please.”

That’s all the confirmation Robin needs before she’s pushing her hands up Chrissy’s shirt and mapping the curves of Chrissy’s body with a careful mix of calluses and finger nails, delicate, deliberate, sparking electricity wherever they roam.

Robin was always meant to explore, to roam, to wander, to seek out the unknown, and Chrissy is more than happy to be the landscape she gets lost in.

Chrissy’s hand moves back to Robin and she too explores, like two cartographers competing for who can design a better map.

Robin’s lips find their way back to Chrissy’s and they kiss slowly, deliberately, savoring every second of it.

Robin pulls back and Chrissy lets out a petulant whine in protest causing Robin to huff out a laugh and give her a chaste peck on the cheek, rocking her hips a few more times. It’s not exactly what she wanted but Chrissy will take what she can get.

“Were you serious?” Robin asks breathlessly, stilling her hips completely and waiting for an answer.

Chrissy would follow Robin to hell without a second thought. Europe isn’t exactly a stretch in comparison.

“I mean I don’t want to impose or anything but—but yeah. I’d go with you. If—If that’s something you’d like. Something you’d want.”

Again, Robin stares into her eyes, shifting and searching. Chrissy lets her take all the time she needs to find what she’s looking for. Chrissy just stares back, waiting.

Robin’s eyes are blue. This is not new information, but Chrissy has never allowed herself to look for this long before, long enough to catalogue every specific shade of her iris. There’s blue, definitely, but it’s cool and sharp, almost gray in this light. They’re reminiscent of a storm, a bit, or maybe the minutes right before, when there are clouds looming in the sky, and moments away pouring down rain.

They remind her of the smell that lingers afterwards. Petrichor.

Robin taught her that word when she was trying to learn Greek, when she’d sometimes look for words in English that originate from whatever language she’s trying to learn. She says it helps her connect to the language. ‘Petrichor.’ It comes from Greek words meaning stone and ichor, the ethereal golden fluid that is the blood of the gods in Greek mythology.

It’s been a while since Chrissy really believed in God. That faith she once held so dear faded sometime during high school, when the way Jason and her mom treated her had her praying everyday, only for no one to come and save her. It’s hard to believe in someone that doesn’t come when you beg for help. But if Chrissy was going to pick a god, something or someone to believe in, to rely on, to pray to, to worship, she would pick Robin.

“Anyone ever told you your eyes look like storms?” Chrissy asks, only partly aware that she’s speaking out loud. She’s still not looking away, still trying to figure out exactly what to call the shade of bluish-gray closest to Robin’s pupil. “I think I could drown in them and die happy.”

“Je suis tellement amoureux de toi, putain,” Robin says.

Robin does that sometimes, says something in a different language specifically so Chrissy can’t understand what she’s saying. Sometimes it’s just to be annoying but sometimes it’s because she’s being vulnerable but doesn’t want to show her entire hand. And Chrissy doesn’t have a damn clue what that sentence means. She’s pretty sure it’s French, but can’t be entirely sure. Usually, Chrissy doesn’t bother to look anything up, just lets Robin have her secret, whatever it is, but in this case she thinks the curiosity might consume her if she doesn’t find out what Robin said.

Whatever it is, it must be a good thing because Robin’s kissing her again and pushing Chrissy down so she can lay on top of her on the couch.

Chrissy lets out a startled yelp as she’s maneuvered until her back is pressed against the cushions and her head is propped up by a throw pillow, and then Robin attacks her with kisses all over her face, her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids, the corners of her mouth, the tip of her nose.

Chrissy tilts her head back, dodging a kiss aimed at her cheek that instead lands on her earlobe.

“Is that a yes?” She needs a clear answer. She thinks she has one but she needs to be sure.

“Please,” Robin says, begs almost. “Please come with me.”

“Okay.” Chrissy’s cheeks ache with the force of the smile she tries and fails to suppress. “I guess I’m going to Europe.”

Robin burrows into Chrissy’s chest like she’s trying to make a home there, as if she hadn’t carved out a space in Chrissy’s heart long ago.

“We’re going to Europe,” gets mumbled into Chrissy’s cleavage and when Chrissy laughs giddily in response it pushes Robin’s face further in, and Robin nuzzles against her the skin peaking out where Chrissy didn’t connect the top button of her sleep shirt.

Then Robin turns her head and looks up at Chrissy with tenderness in her eyes.

“And our wardrobe is basically double since we can share clothes,” Robin jokes.

“Oh, I see, you only want me ‘cause your bag is too small for all your grandpa shirts.”

“Well, of course,” Robin smirks. “Why else?”

And Chrissy’s heart swells with fondness. “If all we pack is your clothes, what am I going to wear?”

One of Robin’s hands moves to fiddle with the highest button that’s still clasped and she looks up at Chrissy with mischief swirling around in her eyes. “Well I guess you could wear my clothes.”

Chrissy hums like she’s considering it. “I don’t know, we don’t really have the same style, ya know?”

“Well—” Robin undoes the button she’s been messing with and moves onto the next one down. “Who says you have to wear anything? There’s a bunch of nude beaches in Europe. Spain.” Another button. “France.” The next button. “Portugal.”

The last button comes undone and Robin trails her nose down Chrissy’s body, stopping periodically to press lingering kisses on Chrissy’s neck, chest, stomach, hip. She traces her fingers along Chrissy’s skin too and with every new touch something in Chrissy ignites and the feeling consumes her from the inside out like a cigarette burn eating a piece of paper.

Every touch brings something to life in her that she didn’t even know was dead to begin with. It’s like her soul has been starving for years and she almost fears that it’s too much all at once, but she could never get enough of Robin.

If this goes on much longer Chrissy fears she might start using words like “loins” and “bosom.” To save herself the embarrassment, Chrissy attempts to shift the tides and roll them so Robin is underneath her. The problem with this plan is that Chrissy managed to forget they were on a couch so instead of being cool and suave she only really succeeds in making them tumble to the floor.

They land on the carpet with a soft thud and Chrissy wrestles Robin until she can straddle one of Robin’s thighs and hold her hands above her head. Robin laughs, and it’s one of the most beautiful sounds Chrissy has ever heard. Robin is Chrissy’s definition of beauty.

If given enough time, Chrissy could list every single thing that makes Robin beautiful. But time is infinite and even that is not enough to begin to list each freckle. So instead of making a list, Chrissy begins the task of pressing her lips to every freckle and whispering gentle praises between each kiss until Robin is giggling and squeaking from laughter and lightly pushing Chrissy away.

Chrissy moves down, holding Robin’s arms in place with one hand while the other finds the hem of Robin's sleep shirt, an old gym shirt she stole from Steve years ago. And that just won’t do, because Chrissy really doesn’t want either of them to be thinking of Steve right now. So she pulls at the hem, guiding the shirt up until she has to release Robin’s hands to pull it the rest of the way off. Robin is putty under her hands, pliant and willing.

Chrissy throws the shirt across the room and it lands somewhere near the TV, she thinks. Donald Duck squawks and quacks in protest so she throws her own shirt in that direction, partially covering the TV to protect his innocent eyes.

She presses her thigh in between Robin’s legs, letting Robin rut against it as she explores the landscape of Robin’s body with her hands and mouth, memorizing every dip and curve. She traces gentle fingers across smooth skin and faded scars from tripping over curbs and committing to the bit a little too hard. She learns everything she can about Robin’s body, studies it like she’s going to be tested on every little detail. She’s going to get an A if she ever is.

“Am I dreaming?” Robin moans, one hand tangled in Chrissy’s hair and the other frantically searching for purchase somewhere on Chrissy’s body as Chrissy sucks a hickey into Robin’s chest.

Chrissy pulls away just long enough to say, “God I hope not,” before she’s diving back in to decorate Robin with love bites and purple bruises.

“Fuck,” Robin sighs, melting under Chrissy’s touch. “I love you.”

Robin freezes like she didn’t mean to say that and everything else stops too. Neither of them are breathing anymore and their movements are stalled. Chrissy hasn’t even pulled her lips away from Robin’s skin. Chrissy would be convinced time itself had paused if not for the muffled squabbling of Huey, Dewey, and Louie coming from the TV, and Robin’s pounding heart. Or is that Chrissy’s heart? Maybe it’s both, beating in tandem, drums setting the pace of a song.

Eventually, Robin breaks the silence, snapping them out of their liminal state. “Sorry,” she whispers, soft and hesitant. “I didn’t mean it.”

Slowly and carefully, Chrissy peels herself away from Robin, sitting up on her haunches, still straddling Robin’s leg.

What does she mean by “it”? Chrissy knows what she heard, and it was said in English and everything. Perfectly understandable, with very little room for misinterpretation. But Robin didn’t mean it. And really that could mean a number of things. Robin didn’t mean to say it, Robin didn’t mean what she said, Robin is apologizing for something entirely unrelated…

“Didn’t mean to say it,” Chrissy starts, not willing to let herself stew and jump to conclusions, “or didn’t mean what you said?”

Robin pushes herself backwards a few inches on her elbows, and Chrissy lets her, raising up a little so Robin’s leg isn’t trapped. Then Robin sits up and pulls her other leg up to her chest, resting her chin on her knee and wrapping her arms around her shin. She looks small. All curled up, like she’s trying to make herself a smaller target. Like she’s scared of Chrissy or what Chrissy will do. And Chrissy isn’t sure what she did to make Robin think she would ever do anything to hurt her, physically, emotionally, or otherwise. Chrissy would sooner cut out her own tongue than say something to upset Robin. Even the thought of it leaves a sour taste in her mouth and she wants to scrape her tongue clean and brush her teeth.

“Uh… didn’t mean to say it,” Robin confesses. And it feels like a real confession, like when she was a kid and had to go through the whole “forgive me father for I have sinned, it’s been a week since my last confession,” stuff. It feels like repentance, like regret, guilt.

“So you love me?” Chrissy asks, begs, pleads, prays.

Robin nods, small and shy and so very un-Robin. “Yeah, guess so. I’m sorry. That was probably a lot and I really didn’t mean to spring that on you. I just—with the kissing and the touching and the whole you going with me and everything. And I wasn’t going to say anything, probably ever, and really I shouldn’t have kissed you earlier without even asking. That was kinda shitty of me honestly, because that’s not, like, clear consent. But then you seemed to like it, right? And then you were kissing me, and then it was all soft but also horny, and then we were on the ground and it really does all feel like a dream but it’s not because I usually wake up by now and I never—”

“You dream about me?” Chrissy interjects. There’s a pervading smile crawling its way onto her face, and every cell in her body feels drawn towards Robin. And fuck, she wants to kiss her again. But she’s a little scared any sudden movements will send Robin running despite her leg still being somewhat caged by Chrissy’s thighs.

Robin turns a bright shade of red and looks up to the ceiling. She huffs in embarrassment and nods.

“I dream about you too,” Chrissy whispers, barely audible over the TV. It occurs to Chrissy that she still hasn’t told Robin that she loves her too. And it's crazy, really, that she hasn’t. She’s not sure why she hasn’t. She knows it will be reciprocated. She’s going to Europe with Robin. There’s no real risk anymore. “And I love you too, by the way. Kinda a lot.”

“And you’re not just saying that ‘cause I made a fool out of myself and you want to save me the embarrassment?”

“Robin, I agreed in seconds to abandon my life as I know it to follow you around Europe for an unspecified amount of time and I fully meant it. What about that gives the impression that I’m not incurably in love with you?”

“I owe Steve so much money,” Robin laughs and untangles herself so she can pull herself up to meet Chrissy. “We should really get you packed.”

Chrissy hums in agreement and leans forward to press a kiss to Robin’s nose. “How about one more episode of DuckTales?” she suggests, leaning into Robin to urge them both back to the floor.

“Just one more,” Robin replies when her back hits the ground, pulling Chrissy in and, if Chrissy has her way, never letting go.