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Chapter Text

Chicago, 2004

The Johnson family’s sprawling backyard is filled with journalists and photographers.

“This year’s hottest race isn’t between Bush and Kerry,” reports an NBC 5 Chicago correspondent, speaking on-camera. “It’s over here, at the 9^th Illinois congressional district, between incumbent Curtis J. Sterling and his Democratic challenger, Anika Johnson.”

Said candidate, a tall, olive-toned woman in a sharp suit, stands confidently in front of a mic stand.

“You’re looking to become the first Indian-American and first openly gay woman elected to Congress here in your district,” asks a journalist. “What can you say about detractors who claim that you’re riding on your identity and novelty, without a clear platform?”

Anika Johnson smirks. She’s expected this question, and so, has a winning answer.

“To say that I am riding on my identity--my identity as a lifelong public servant--is correct,” says Anika. “To say that I am riding on being a novelty is also correct…the novelty being that I am the only candidate in this campaign with a clear plan to fight for economic justice, better healthcare, more transparency, and for challenging the current administration's plans in Iraq. What isn’t correct is to say that I do not have platform, as I have repeatedly outlined my plans to advocate for our community if elected.”

Anika smiles at the redhaired woman standing by her side.

“And I didn’t bring my partner here just to banner my identity and novelty,” says Anika. “Through our work with underprivileged communities in South America, Vickie and I saw firsthand the impact that public policy and reform can have on countless lives.”

Vickie Dunne smiles proudly at her partner. Vickie Dunne, who has worked happily in the sidelines throughout her life, doing the work that no one celebrates but everyone relies on. Saving lives without fanfare. Now, thrust into the spotlight, simply because her life partner happens to be the progressive lesbian, bi-racial scion of a historically Rockefeller Republican North Shore family.

“So you intend to meddle in congressional affairs,” a reporter asks Vickie pointedly. "Simply because your partner will be in the House."

Vickie takes a deep breath. She glances quickly at Richard, Anika’s campaign manager, who nods at her reassuringly. She was always the nervous and anxious type, but they rehearsed this. And if there’s one thing about Vickie, she always delivers.

“I don’t intend to meddle, as I don’t need to,” Vickie replies confidently. “I already work with marginalized communities every day at our nonprofit, where I believe I can effect more change. I’ll leave the policy-making to Ani.”

She looks back at Richard, who smiles and gives her a thumbs up.

===

Later that evening, in the living room of Anika and Vickie’s apartment, the core campaign team gathers for a post mortem. The apartment is elegantly decorated, filled with art and black-and-white photographs of Anika’s illustrious family. Displayed on the baby grand piano is a framed polaroid of Vickie, 17 years younger, dressed in her candy striper uniform, standing in a hospital hallway, playfully sticking her tongue out at the unknown photographer.

“Vickie…that short for Victoria?” asks one of the campaign volunteers.

Vickie looks up from her laptop. She’s been catching up on emails by a corner of the room.

“No, just Vickie.”

The volunteer nods and jots this down.

“I’m prepping your profile for PR,” explains the volunteer.

“My profile? For what?”

“So after studying Public Policy at UChicago, you took your postgrad at Trinity College Dublin. Do you still have family there?”

“Uh...no...I just wanted to connect with my roots I guess.”

“Got it. Irish princess…”

“Excuse me? What? Don’t write that—"

“So then you and Anika meet as Peace Corps volunteers…yeah, I can definitely whip up a good story with this one.”

Vickie should be used to it by now, but it still bothers her that Richard’s campaign strategy has been to turn Anika and Vickie into some sort of queer celebrity power couple. It undermines the actual work that the two have put into advocating for their community and fighting for just public policies. But as hard as it is to admit, the strategy seems to be working.

Vickie returns to her laptop, just as a new email pops in—a Yahoo Group invite, and Vickie can’t believe what it says.

“Welcome to Hawkins High ’86!”

Chapter Text

Barnard College, 2004

The students have rearranged the chairs in the classroom into a semicircle. This is no doubt the influence of their Smithie professor; it’s a practice that she brought all the way from Northampton to New York. In a way, Professor Buckley is the very embodiment of that cross-pollination—what with her Blundstones and New England flannel looking somewhat out of place but more than welcome in a room of urbanite college girls.

“That’s just the myth of American exceptionalism!”

“Ok, that’s such a simplistic view of it, honestly.”

“The Peace Corps, at the end of the day, has done a lot of good and has produced some incredible people!"

“Anika Johnson! That congressional candidate! She and her partner met as Peace Corps volunteers!”

“Oh please! Johnson is the scion of a powerful political family. She is not the win for progressivism that you think she is.”

“No, she’s actually cool! I read her interviews, and she has a pretty solid platform.”

The debate is just as heated as Robin had hoped. She’s always enjoyed passionate exchanges of ideas, as a notorious rambler herself. As far as she’s concerned, her role as an educator isn’t to teach her students things but to teach them how to think. Ideas, innovations, theories, all these things that students can pick up from a book or search on the internet are all well and good. But the ability to think critically and form opinions based on facts? Those are things that require training and mentorship--something she hopes to provide.

“And her partner is great, too! She heads a nonprofit that has successfully lobbied for more inclusive healthcare.”

“She was a Hawkins Earthquake survivor, too, Professor Buckley.”

Robin shudders at the mention. An anxious, twisting feeling suddenly forms in her gut. That hasn’t been brought up in years, obviously by choice. But every time it comes up, it still feels raw.

“Really?” Robin asks, pretending to be unaffected. “Someone I know?”

One of her students fishes out a copy of the Times and flips through the page in question. “Vickie Dunne.”

===

Nancy Wheeler doesn’t handle the political beat at the Times, but Robin is absolutely sure Nancy was aware that her hometown ex was in the news; Nancy simply didn’t bother to tell her.

“I didn’t want to bring it up,” says Nancy defensively, but barely looking up from her laptop. “I know how sensitive you get about that topic.”

“I was like a deer in headlights in front of my students,” Robin almost shouts as she cooks pasta sauce. She is tempted to go extra on the chili pepper, just to get back at Nancy.

“Will you calm down? I didn’t know it was going to be such a big deal!”

“Not a big dea—You know what?” says Robin. “You didn’t share the news, so I’m not sharing my dinner!”

“That’s fine,” says Nancy nonchalantly. “I’m having dinner out anyway.”

“Another date?”

“Could be. Or could just be a scoop. We’ll see…uhm, why did Steve just add me to a Hawkins ’86 Yahoo Group?”

Robin samples her pasta sauce and winces.

“Because he’s Hawkins-Till-I-Die,” says Robin. “He added me, too.”

“But…he’s class of ’85?”

Robin shrugs. “He says he doesn’t know anyone in his class.”

Nancy chuckles. She’ll always have a soft spot for that dingus.

Robin clears out some space on the dining table by shoving away some notebooks and papers. She takes a seat, a forkful of the pasta she’s managed to whip up, and a moment to let her mind wander.

I wonder if Steve added Vickie, too.

Chapter Text

It’s been 15-odd years since that earthquake, since the world turn upside down, since Robin Buckley broke Vickie Dunne’s heart.

And yet, here she was, staring at Robin’s email in her inbox.

Hey Vickie,

How have you been? Nice to see you in the message boards.

I hope you’re well. Just wanted to say hi.

Best,

Robin

The cursor of Vickie’s message box blinks, as if tapping its toes in impatience, waiting for Vickie to respond. She takes a deep breath and reaches for the keypad.

Hi Robin,

So good to hear from you! How long has it bee—

DELETE. Vickie rolls her eyes. Of course, she knows how long it’s been. She makes another attempt.

Hi Robin,

So good to hear from you. I am good, and I hope that you are, too.

Best,

Vickie

Polite. But terse enough to make Robin understand that, after all these years, the pain is still raw, still there where love once was. A thought crosses Vickie's mind, about how sad it is that a deep, loving relationship like the one that they had is now just a few cold sentences of feigned and faceless geniality. Life's like that, I guess, Vickie thinks. You love, you lose, you live.

She moves the cursor to send the message but then remembers that she needs to take the high road here. She can’t be bitchy until Anika’s campaign is over. Robin might know someone who’s a voter here and blah blah blah…

She tries this again.

Hi Robin,

It’s great to hear from you. I’m good, thanks for asking.

What have you been up to? I hope all is well with you, too.

Best,

Vickie

Vickie clicks send before she has the chance to change her mind. She rereads her message and immediately regrets it. Why did she add a question? Robin might answer it and continue the conversation, and Vickie isn’t sure if wants that. Or does she?

“They’re calling you a ginger Meg Ryan,” says Anika. Vickie jumps, having forgotten that Anika was also in the room, poring through a stack of local newspapers. “You’re basically Chicago’s Sweetheart now.”

Vickie laughs and blushes slightly, but inside, she cringes at the notion. She never planned nor ever wanted to be a politician’s "wife." But she should’ve expected, despite Anika’s initial disdain for it, that Anika would eventually end up in the family business, as the new, more progressive face of what was once a WASP-y political family. Besides, Anika is a good person, and Vickie believed in her and in the change that she can bring to so many communities.

“Hey, if my red bob can win this election, then who am I to complain?”

Chapter Text

Rob68: I just saw you in the news. You gave quite an answer!

DunneDunneDunne: Haha you saw that? How embarrassing!!

Rob68: Don’t be. It was great. You looked good on camera. You always did.

Robin buries her face in her hands. She cannot believe she hit send on that last one. She stares at her computer screen in disbelief. I’m 36 years old, chatting on Yahoo Messenger like a teenager.

“So lame,” mumbles Nancy. Robin jumps at her intrusion.

“Jeez Nancy! How long have you been standing here?”

“If you tried that shit on me, I wouldn’t fall for it,” says Nancy, looking over Robin’s shoulder, reading through the chat conversation.

“First of all, I am not trying anything! Second, you did fall for it once!”

“Ha! Touché. Once. And don’t remind me.” Nancy grabs her bag and keys and heads for the door. “And don’t wait up!”

Nancy walks out and shuts the door, leaving Robin alone. Alone with Vickie. Not the Vickie currently a thousand miles away with a partner, but the Vickie of 15 years ago, even more distant but vivid as ever.

===

Robin walks to be subway, bagel in hand. She has a class in 30 minutes, but she’s mastered this commute to a T. She sees a Twin Towers memorial poster on one of the storefronts and remembers what Vickie messaged her the other day.

DunneDunneDunne: It must be terrible. Having lived through two tragedies. I’m so sorry, Robin.

There aren’t too many people in this universe who would understand. That’s why it felt like a hug, in some way. She probably just typed it mindlessly while on the campaign trail, Robin thinks. If only she knew the strange comfort it brings.

But Vickie was always like that. She was always thinking about others, extending care to anyone who needed it. Robin needed it back then, when they were together. Vickie saw a troubled puppy and jumped right in to help her.

Robin thinks about why she walked out on Vickie. Why did I let her go again?

Then she remembers feeling suffocated. Suffocated by her nightmares. Suffocated by a town that acted like nothing had happened when, in fact, they had gone to hell and back. But Robin's mistake was to think that it was Vickie suffocating her.

By the time Robin had realized that misattribution, it was already too late.

Chapter Text

Hawkins has been on Vickie’s mind the past couple of days. It’s not like she misses the place. It’s only a three-hour drive from Chicago, so she’s able to visit the folks during the holidays. But this sudden wave of nostalgia? Even Vickie won’t deny the reason why.

Rob68: When was the last time you visited Hawkins?

She’s been chatting with Robin Buckley almost daily for the past couple of weeks. It annoys her that their conversation flows so effortlessly, that they’ve easily fallen into some kind of rapport and rhythm. It makes her remember how they first became friends in band, how Vickie would sometimes offer to drive her home after practice, how Vickie would circle the block one more time just so they could chat a bit longer.

Vickie still hates Robin’s guts, and yet…

DunneDunneDunne: I go home for the holidays, but I usually just stay at my parents’.

Rob68: So no going around the old haunts?

DunneDunneDunne: Nope, I don’t have many friends left there anyway. I did attend the earthquake commemoration thing in 2001.

There was an event three years ago, commemorating the 15th anniversary of the Hawkins Earthquake. Vickie was hesitant to attend, but Anika reminded her of how important it was going to be, to support the community. A lot of people showed up. Max Mayfield said hi, and she brought along her sons who all looked like ginger Lucas Sinclairs. Chief Hopper announced that he would retire the following year, and the party that was there at the MAC-Z knew why he chose 2002: because that would be 15 years after they lost the hero who spared them all.

Rob68: Oh, yeah, I had considered going…

DunneDunneDunne: But you didn’t.

No response from Robin. Vickie smirks. She always enjoyed teasing that girl.

DunneDunneDunne: …I was joking :))

Rob68: Thank god! You gotta add emoticons to your messages! You know how I can’t read social cues.

DunneDunneDunne: :-p ;-)

“Who’s making my baby laugh,” says Anika as she walks into the room. Vickie is startled, unaware that she had been smiling and giggling. Anika puts her coat down and gives Vickie a peck on the cheek.

“Oh, I’m just chatting with…an old classmate,” says Vickie.

“College?”

“No, high school.”

“Oh cool! That’s nice. You’ve never introduced me to any of your high school friends.”

“How was your day,” Vickie asks, closing her laptop to change the subject.

“It was good. We did the rounds at the community centers and soup kitchens. You should have been there.”

“I’m sure you managed well without me.”

“People were asking about you, actually. I think I need you there, Vic.”

Only two people have ever called her that. It seems like a name reserved only for those whom she has truly loved.

“Ani, I’m already going with you to that benefit on Tuesday—"

Anika walks towards Vickie and takes her hand. “I know, and I’m really grateful. I know how much you hate these things.” Anika kneels down beside Vickie. “And I've noticed how you’re always on that laptop recently…”

Vickie's breath hitches. She starts playing all possible scenarios in her head, having to explain who Robin is—or was—and how this reconnection means nothing beyond two classmates catching up.

“…and I figured it must be because work has really gotten you all tied up,” Anika continues.

It’s a momentary relief for Vickie, until Anika explains further.

“I was thinking, maybe, you can take a sabbatical from work first, so that you can help with the campaign.”

Vickie cannot believe what she’s hearing. It’s one thing to ask her to attend all these events and junkets; it’s another thing to ask Vickie to drop her life’s work and all that matters to her.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” says Anika, placing a kiss on Vickie’s hand. “But I really hope you’ll consider, babe. I need you.” Anika gets up, places another peck on Vickie’s cheek, and leaves the room. Vickie is too stunned to react.

She reopens her laptop and finds a new message from Robin.

Rob68: I’ll be visiting Hawkins for the Memorial Day weekend actually. Will you be there then? Would be great to meet up.

Chapter Text

There’s a newsstand around the corner from Robin and Nancy’s building. It’s become a morning routine for them to grab a coffee and pick up some reading material from the stall. Nancy likes to see how her counterparts at the other papers have covered her beats. Robin likes to pick up The New Yorker or TV Guide.

But today, not even the latest issue of Curve, her favorite lesbian magazine, could take Robin’s mind off whatever it is she’s thinking of. Nancy notices this. Robin is fidgety and restless, sipping from her Greek coffee cup while deep in thought.

“Slow news day?” asks Nancy.

Robin awakes from her stupor. “Huh…what…yeah…uhm…I’m good. Just thinking about a class.”

“Ooo-kay,” says Nancy, not believing a single word. “Speaking of class, Jonathan’s inviting us to his beach house again for Memorial Day weekend.”

“Uh, yeah…about that…I don’t I think I can go this year,” says Robin, trying to keep her tone as casual as possible.

“Really now? You have other plans?” Nancy’s investigative instincts kick in. She examines Robin’s face closely, trying to figure out what’s on her mind.

“Actually, yeah…I’ll be in Hawkins…you know…to visit the folks…I haven’t been home in a while…”

The longer Robin rambles, the more suspicious Nancy gets. Nancy has a sneaking suspicion that whatever Robin is up to, it has something to do with the Hawkins High ’86 Yahoo group. But she won’t pry, because if she’s learned anything from her years as a journalist, the evidence usually comes to light on its own eventually.

“Huh…okay…well, I’ll send Jonathan your regrets then.”

===

Rob68: Come on, it’ll be fun!

DunneDunneDunne: I don’t doubt that. Just have to sort out my schedule first.

Rob68: It’s just one weekend off the campaign trail! You can even bring Anika if you like.

DunneDunneDunne: I would, but her schedule is pretty set in stone, and she needs me to be even more involved now, too.

Rob68: Aww…don’t you wanna see what Enzo’s looks like now? Hahaha

DunneDunneDunne: Now now…I will have you know that Enzo’s is the finest Italian establishment in that side of Indiana!

Rob68: The far, far side of Indiana

DunneDunneDunne: :-)))

Robin stops for moment, relishing the joy of knowing that she can still make Vickie Dunne laugh. After all, making Vickie laugh was their first real interaction, way back in ’86 when Robin inadvertently called Tammy Thompson’s voice muppet-like, eliciting the most adorable snort from Vickie. Making Vickie laugh was like an elixir for Robin. It was her talisman; it made her feel like she had some special power that no one else possessed—the gift of making this one person smile, the gift of making everything all right in this world. Robin didn’t think it was a power she still had, let alone something that apparently still mattered to her.

DunneDunneDunne: Pencil it in. I’ll try to make it happen.

Robin smiles. She gets up and plops down on her bed with a buzzy, happy sense of relief that she can’t quite understand. She reaches for the black leather box she’d brought out from storage. She opens it, revealing her old trumpet, a little tarnished but still brilliant against the red velvet lining. She hasn’t played it in years, maybe a decade, but she picks it up and allows the memories to lead her down every note.

===

Over at their kitchen, Nancy looks up from her dinner as she hears sounds coming from Robin’s room. It’s the trumpet solo from Gershwin’s “An American in Paris.” Muffled but impassioned, the pained but velvety wailing of the instrument makes Nancy think she might know what—or who—Robin’s Hawkins homecoming is all about.