[new york] star treatment [robin]

april 2002

Charlie was hoping this wasn’t Fflur’s idea of an elaborate joke.

When he’d last spoken to her she’d mentioned that Robin had (finally) gotten cast in a show in New York – he supposed Robin hadn’t told Charlie himself out of modesty, or nervousness. Charlie knew he would be heading to the states touring within a couple of weeks, so had probed Fflur for more details, offering to catch up with her boyfriend while he was in town. Be a familiar face. Charlie knew that he at least needed one, at any rate. His popularity among friends had suffered somewhat in recent months.

So Charlie was waiting outside the rehearsal venue Fflur had told him Robin would be at, clutching the scrap of parchment with the address scrawled on in one hand, and a bouquet of bright flowers in the other. An in-joke. Something he hoped Robin would appreciate, or at least remember doing himself so that Charlie didn’t feel like such a dickhead. The Slytherin wouldn’t put it past Fflur giving him a false address, just to see Charlie put out. Payback, he supposed. Still, it wasn’t quite seven o’clock yet, and Charlie was all too familiar with rehearsals and their propensity for running over time. He wouldn’t worry yet. Besides, it wasn’t like Fflur to set him up without being there to witness the fallout.

It wasn’t cold, not now that spring was well and truly upon them, but it was still a fresh evening. There were no clouds overhead to keep the temperature up, so Charlie jammed the hand holding the parchment into the pocket of his leather jacket as he leant up against the wall opposite the entrance doors, regretting not being able to shove his other hand into the other pocket.

He was attracting the odd inquisitive look here and there, as men holding flowers tended to do, but for the most part people seemed uninterested in him. New York was a busy place – he was just another nameless face in the crowd. It was nice. Kate was back at the hotel – Charlie was, in all honesty, surprised that she’d trusted him to head out alone. He’d half-heartedly offered for her to come with, so perhaps she trusted him again. Took him at his word. Well, for once he’d been telling the truth – maybe she could tell.

Before he could delve too far into his own headspace, the large double doors opened with a bang and a groan, as if they needed a good oiling. Charlie stayed leant up against the wall to remain incognito, keeping his eyes peeled for Robin as a gaggle of people exited the venue. When Charlie saw him he straightened up, “Rob!” he called out, his hand cupped around his mouth. As the other Englishman spotted him Charlie grinned, “Hey mate,” he approached, holding his free hand out to shake Robin’s in greeting, “Heard you were in town.”

Robin had really missed having fun. He hadn’t realized it until he’d started rehearsing again. The last few months he’d thought he’d been having fun, or at least been pleasantly content… But no matter how much more had become part of his life then, he knew now there had been something missing. He felt like himself again, without ever having noticed he’d been someone else. It wasn’t uncommon for these things to dawn on him in a belated way. Just enough, of course, to make him feel like an idiot.

It was wild and sort of nostalgic, to feel as if the world was unfolding under him, to make new friends and meet new strangers, not to have anyone to come home to (human or otherwise). He missed home, obviously, as he lay alone in the Queens sublet of some wizard on sabbatical in Argentina. But not as much as he was expecting to. He guessed he was keeping busy. That had a lot to do with his moods, he knew.

Robin was with a small group of cast and crew this evening, making faces to himself as he wound with them through the hallways under the Byron Lutz Wizarding Playhouse. He had a thick handlebar mustache to acquaint himself with tonight. Earlier he’d had an unexpectedly sensitive reaction to the costumers’ go-to hair growth potion they’d wanted to use for stubble in the second act, and during the removal of the large beard he’d asked to preserve just a little for the sake of amusement. As they opened the heavy door outside, he was hoping he’d at least get a couple compliments that night—but didn’t expect to hear someone call for him right then. Robin looked up and recognized his beckoner. “Hey!” He broke apart from the group and bounded across the alley. “What—oh, thank you!”

Robin took the flowers delightedly and held them to his face to smell. “Couldn’t even wait for the performance, hm?” A couple of his friends laughed behind him and he turned back to give them a cheerfully rude gesture. He was honestly a little touched that Charlie would be willing to endure looking silly for the sake of creating an inside joke. The concept of inside jokes was touching to him in general, really. He was sure Charlie didn’t care as much as that, but he grinned broadly all the same.

“How long you been out here?” he asked, as a chilly wind made him hunch his shoulders. “I’d have left earlier if I knew you were coming; I was just waiting around talking…” He chuckled and scratched his lip. “Would’ve lost the mustache too—wasn’t counting on seeing anyone I knew, y’know, we were just going for a drink and I figured it was a laugh…” Glancing back at his companions, Robin waved them off. “You want to do something? You could come, or we could go somewhere else, I mean, you don’t know these idiots…”

It occurred to Robin then that the last he’d thought of Charlie, he’d been sort of angry at him. It felt sort of too late to mention it now, though. He hoped that during the night the feeling wouldn’t get dragged back up.

Charlie’s lips tugged into an awkward smile as he rolled his eyes and did his best not to look at any of the people who’d spilled out of the theatre doors with Robin. He’d always had some sort of superstition that if he didn’t make eye contact, people wouldn’t recognise him. It didn’t always work. Of course, he wasn’t so vain as to assume everyone knew who he was, but Charlie knew that this was a Wizarding play that Robin had been cast in (he’d done a limited amount of homework before coming), so there was a reasonable chance that they might at least know his name.

“Don’t get used to it.” Charlie relaxed into a grin, “Thieving bastards must charge more at this time of night.” he said, gesturing at the flowers. He wondered if that was actually a thing, to take advantage of ‘last minute’ purchases; men who’d failed to get home from dinner on time, forgotten about a date, or some other minor indiscretion that warranted a floral apology. “Either that or flowers are just fucking expensive in New York.” That was entirely possible too, he supposed.

“Not long,” he said casually, “s’alright mate, didn’t wanna spoil the surprise.” He smirked, then smiled more genuinely as Robin breached the topic of his new facial hair. “Oh, was that just for the show?” He laughed, “Thought you were trying out a new look for Fflur.”

It took Charlie half a moment to realise what Robin had just said. “A drink?” he repeated, his voice not betraying the thoughts behind the query. Maybe everyone else was drinking and Robin just, didn’t want to be the one guy in the ensemble that didn’t go along for the ride. Well, Charlie could sacrifice himself for Robin’s cause, he supposed. He looked over Robin’s shoulder at the others: they all looked equally odd. Artsy, creative people but the kind that were usually overly enthusiastic about everything in life. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a sacrifice to not spend the night with them.

He shouldered in a little closer to Robin, lowering his voice just enough to make sure the others wouldn’t hear him, “D’you think they’d mind if we...?” Charlie nodded his head, insinuating that the two of them peel off from the group. “You can show me around, you must be a local now.”

“Oh,” said Robin. Now that he’d been reminded to think of it, he obviously should have remembered Charlie as someone who he’d led to believe a sip of beer might ruin his life. Everyone at home was. Robin himself had believed it no more than a few months ago. Maybe it would have been true, had the first time or two gone any worse by chance, but now? He felt personally that he’d been doing well at moderation. “Just one or two, y’know?” he said with a lopsided smile, as if Charlie might believe it. He looked away down the narrow street and shrugged. One or two had been his intention from the start, but saying it to Charlie made him feel like a liar who’d been caught out. At heart he was, he figured. If he hadn’t been so unused to lying lately he certainly would have done.

His friend’s voice hadn’t really been accusatory, though…or Robin thought not. He tried to recall the last few seconds without the nervous context his mind had filled in. Didn’t work, but Charlie’s face now wasn’t showing much skepticism—or worse, disappointment. There were far easier people to let down than him.

Charlie leaned toward him then and asked to split off from the group. Robin’s strained smile weakened into a more genuine one. His mood had become far more highly stressed in the last couple minutes, and bridging the gap between two sets of friends was more than he’d have liked to do. “Nah, mate,” he said, “it’s fine.” Robin shook his head emphatically. His body felt subtly too big now, his movements too large, too much—as if all his joints were just a little too loose. It made him somewhat more eager for a dulling of the senses. “I see these people every day,” he said, shifting his flowers to the other hand to clap Charlie on the back. “Doesn’t matter, let’s go someplace else.” He waved his friends off and let his arm drape all the way over Charlie’s shoulders.

“Don’t tell Fflur,” Robin said after another second. The conversation had moved on, but the guilty feeling in his gut hadn’t. “Y’know,” he added, “that I’ll have a drink. Haven’t told her yet.” Saying this was a mistake, he knew—the guilt compounded with every word, and made him cringe. But at the same time, he needed to be clear. On the off chance that Fflur and Charlie got together anytime, he had to know he could destroy everything with the wrong judgment.

The train of thought brought up the memory suddenly, of why Robin had felt so bitter. “Oh, yeah, so how about you?” he asked. He raised his eyebrows and turned a condescending stare toward Charlie. “You feeling better these days, or still going about harassing women?”

Charlie tried to hide the sceptical look on his face and failed, “Yeah, just one or two. Right.” He repeated in what he thought was a normal tone – he was in no position to comment on anyone else’s drinking behaviours, after all. He was still in denial about his own status as an alcoholic (amongst other diagnoses), but even so Charlie knew he had issues with how he acted when he did drink, and that was enough to make him pause.

“You sure?” The musician queried, though he already knew the answer. He allowed Robin to steer them down the street and away from the theatre gang. Thank Christ. He hadn’t even anticipated Robin having friends here – which seemed like an incredibly unfair thing to think of his fellow Englishman. Robin was a nice guy, nicer than Charlie definitely. “How’s it all going? The play and that?” He asked.

Ah, there it was. Charlie ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth, evaluating Robin’s request. This seemed like an important bit of information to keep from your teetotal girlfriend, though again, Charlie wasn’t the right person to make judgement on what was and wasn’t an appropriate level of disclosure. He was himself becoming acutely aware of what was and wasn’t acceptable to keep to one’s self when you were part of a couple. This little side trip to see Robin was as much a break from the tour as it was from the counselling he’d agreed to.

“Tell Fflur what?” He said finally in answer, though something uncomfortable settled in his gut the moment he’d made the decision to side with Robin. Charlie was closer to Fflur, despite having known her boyfriend much longer. It felt dishonest to not tell her, but, he reasoned, it wasn’t his secret to tell. He wouldn’t want Robin talking to Kate about anything he did out of turn, and besides, it wasn’t like Robin was doing anything – just drinking.

Robin’s arm had slipped from Charlie’s shoulders in the same moment the older man turned to glare at him. Charlie almost flinched in anticipation of receiving a thump – that seemed to be a theme in his interactions of late. “I… what?” He played dumb, wondering just how much Robin knew about that. He hadn’t really expected Fflur not to say anything, but he had hoped she might be vague with the details. By the way Robin was looking at him, Charlie wasn’t so sure that was the case. “I’m.. back with Kate if… that’s what you’re asking.” He met Robin’s gaze as they walked side-by-side, clearly wary of his friend’s reaction.

Robin held up a hand in a mocking solemn oath. “No more than two, and I give you license to stop me if necessary.” The Fflur subject was more difficult, though. He sucked in his lips as he considered if there was a way to explain that didn’t make him sound shifty as hell. He wished he hadn’t brought it up at all—but if she heard through Charlie it would have been much, much worse. “I just—don’t want to worry her,” he tried. “I really have gotten a lot better about it, and I don’t—I don’t know how to explain it to people, now that they think I’ll go mad if I smell firewhiskey. Not while we’re on opposite sides of the world, anyway.” He looked straight ahead, at the damp, concrete ground, and tickled his nose with his mustache. He hadn kept it on his face just as much to amuse himself as to figet with.

In this next line of conversation he had been expecting even less amusement, but after a second of considering Charlie’s words he found himself laughing lightly. “Guess that is what I’m asking, in some kind o’ way,” he said. He knew the separation was all that had been behind it. He’d done a number of stupid things out of loneliness and self-loathing himself. To be fair, none of those things had been sexual harrassment, as far as he was aware, but as Fflur had been the one wronged in this case, he was going to trust her judgment. She’d been understanding. She’d done stupid things for those reasons too.

Charlie had apparently fixed the problem of loneliness, though not in the way Robin might have suggested. It had seemed like a good opening for self-analysis to him. Time alone, trying to work out what made him the way he was and trying to become someone who wouldn’t betray the next woman he loved. He was surprised to hear he was back with the one he had. It made Robin feel old all of a sudden. When he was Charlie’s age, that would have been the happy ending he’d have hoped for. Forgiveness and a second attempt at first love. Now he just felt a bit of concern about this girl Kate’s self-esteem.

If it stopped Charlie rubbing up on Fflur, though, it probably wasn’t his place to judge.

Charlie was still looking defensively guilty, in the way he himself had been just moments earlier about the drinking. “Oh, wow,” muttered Robin, only partly to Charlie. “You’re really worried about this. Okay.” He clapped his friend’s back and raised his voice to a cheery, declarative volume. “Look here, mate. It was a scummy thing to do, yeah, we both know that.” He gave Charlie’s back one more pat and stepped away, shrugging breezily as they walked. “But I figure it’s Fflur’s business rather than mine. And she seems to be alright with you.” He chuckled softly. “After an elbow to the gut, at least.”

They were on a busy street now, lights on storefronts flashing in the dimming early evening. “The Big Apple,” said Robin, throwing out a dramatic arm. “Or I think that’s the right fruit, anyway, you probably know the place better than me.” He glanced in Charlie’s direction. “Wizard or No-Maj bar, which do you think?” he asked. “You fancy being a celebrity or a nobody tonight?”

"Pfft.” Charlie rolled his eyes, “Like I’m gonna stop you.” He grinned, though internally he was wondering if maybe this was some thinly veiled request -- a test, if you would. Charlie’s smile faded as Robin continued. “Mate, I’m really not the right person to...” He cleared his throat, “Look, it’s your business. You tell her when you see her, and tonight I’ll just stop you before you make a tit of yourself, alright?” He smirked, “No karaoke bars and we’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” he licked his lips habitually, walking with his hands in his pockets. “We… Valentine’s Day.” He decided to let Robin fill in the blanks. The more he was asked about them getting back together, the closer Charlie felt to letting the cat out of the bag as to how exactly they got back together. It was easier to just… attribute it to the holiday. Most girls were all over that sort of thing so it required little explanation or elaboration, he assumed. 

He nodded, somewhat nervously, still not sure if he was off the hook. The clap on his back was, however, preferable to a smack. “I, yeah, I’m sorry, Rob. I dunno what I was...” He trailed off, glad to not have to delve into the details of any of it with Robin of all people. He still wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking -- he supposed that, at the time, he hadn’t been thinking. Some sort of auto-pilot that had reasoned they’d been there before, so what harm was once more? As much as he vehemently denied remembering any of that night in Paris, Charlie could remember them snogging and clearly that had somehow equated to it being absolutely fine to try and do so again. He wondered if Robin knew about it -- Charlie would obviously prefer he didn’t, and he had a suspicion that if Robin did, he mightn’t be quite so understanding of this particular mishap.

Charlie laughed lightly, though was still clearly not entirely comfortable with the conversation. “Yeah, she got me pretty good.” Lifting one hand to run his fingers through his hair, “I can’t say I didn’t deserve it.” He shoved his hand back in his pocket, “Don’t recommend pissing her off, she’s got a good hook too.” His eyes widened the moment he realised he might be close to letting the cat out of the bag, but thankfully they’d come to a main street and Charlie was able to look around distractedly without, hopefully, causing any suspicion.

He smirked at Robin’s comment, “Preferred California.” And he wasn’t lying, though he supposed there might have been one reason in particular for that. New York had been, in all honestly, more his cup of tea a couple of years ago when Banshee had been touring around the States. Closer to home, more his sort of climate. Now, however, he couldn’t help but see California as more of a second home.

"Near as makes n' matter." Charlie shrugged. He generally preferred muggle pubs in Britain, largely because there was so much more choice and it was that much harder to mill about unnoticed. On this side of the pond, however, the wizarding establishments were, in his opinion, a little better than the no-maj ones. Mundane alcohol did the same job, at the end of the day, but Charlie knew there was something just a little bit special about magical booze. “Up to you mate,” he grinned, “You’ve only got two drinks, you want them to be decent?”

“Yeah, I s’pose you’re right,” replied Robin, laughing, then feeling immediately that he shouldn’t have when Charlie looked so worried.  “Oh, it’ll be fine,” he added. “If neither of us have destroyed our careers before now, then there’s no way the both of us can get smashed enough to do it tonight, yeah?” He settled his arm around Charlie’s skinny shoulders again and steered him more purposefully down the sidewalk. “Ugh, but now that sounds so fun.”

Charlie was not yet ready to push their relationship junk aside and have fun. Robin nodded vaguely as he made reference to Valentine’s day. Having decided his feelings on whatever Charlie and Kate were back up to were better left unsaid, Robin kept uncharacteristically quiet. He bit idly at his tongue until Fflur’s defensive skills came up. “I can’t say I was planning on pissing her off,” he said with a chuckle, “but I’ll keep that in mind.”

The conversation finally made its way back to imminent drinking, which Robin was much more comfortable with at the moment. “Well, we’ve a worse chance of making idiots of ourselves in front of anyone that matters at a No-Maj place,” he said. “But it depends, also—you know anyone over here who’ll let a rockstar and his stupid mate drink free?” Robin laughed earnestly, mustache tickling his cheeks. “That’s just what I’m imagining being a rockstar is like, so you know. Feel free to set me straight.”

Robin was apparently happy for them to not act like him drinking was a big deal, and rather than make things awkward Charlie decided to bite his tongue and go with it. The older man was right, really – if they hadn’t done serious damage by this point, what was the worst they could really get up to? Better not to think too long on that. Charlie shook his head, grinning as Robin came back in close, “Karaoke? Nah, mate. It’s my night off.”

Charlie wasn’t oblivious to the stall in the conversation when Kate came up – he figured he’d chalk it up to the fact that the last Robin had heard, Kate had left Charlie (as, in hindsight, any self-respecting woman should have), rather than any feelings about them being back together. An unpleasant voice in Charlie’s head told him that Robin was just jealous, but that was an insult to Fflur and Charlie didn’t want to start comparing their girlfriends.

“Well, it happens to all of us at some point, mate,” Charlie smirked. “They always get their knickers in a twist over something at some point. It’s inevitable.” He glanced up at the streetsign above to see where exactly they were – try and get some sort of bearing. He had to admit that, as backwards as Americans were with a lot of things, their street naming system – and the mere existence of blocks –  was a hell of a lot easier to navigate than the rabbit-warren of streets and roads that England had, all named on the whimsy of some town planner. If you were on seventh street, you knew the next one over was eighth (or sixth). It was logical, if boring and uncreative.

Charlie rolled his eyes, still grinning. “Yeah, I know a place, up further and down a lane if I remember rightly.” Charlie shoved his hands in his pockets, ignoring the temptation to get his cigarettes out for the short walk it would take to get where they were going. “Nail on the head, mate.” He smirked, “Now that I can actually bloody afford it, they just throw it at you for free.” He shook his head, “It’s so fucking stupid, but…” he shrugged, as if to finish his thought. “Just don’t tell Fflur you’re getting them free alright? She still thinks she owes me all those rounds,” he grinned and gestured down the alley they needed to take.

“I know this looks like I’m about to hide your body in a dumpster…” he joked, then took a couple of quick steps to get ahead of him. Charlie descended a short set of stairs and rapped his knuckles on black-painted door. Something clicked on the inside and the door swung inwards.

Charlie led the way in, down another staircase – but this one was carpeted in lurid green, rather than brick. At the bottom the room opened out into a large bar. Being as late as it was, it was busy. “Might struggle to get a table—“ he started, but was promptly cut off by a waitress grabbing him gently by the wrist to lead them to a booth with a smile. Charlie fought the urge to grin back at Robin – he had the feeling Robin wouldn’t approve – and simply slipped into his side, avoiding the woman’s eye as she asked what they wanted to drink.

“You pick mate, my shout,” he pointed at Robin, “I’ll have whatever he’s having, thanks.”

Charlie mentioned the possibility of murder, and Robin smiled. “Ah, don’t worry about it,” he said cheerfully. “That’s about what my mum’ll expect.” He’d have said nothing, but he had to cover up the sickness he was already starting to feel as he followed Charlie deeper under the building. It was a usual part of it all now. He’d been finding that the trepidation was almost enough to keep him from drinking—but, of course, only almost. He sank into the booth cushion and waited for it to blow over.

“You got Davidson?“ he asked the waitress, smiling tightly. “Bowtruckle Bitter, thanks.” She brought the drinks swiftly back. Robin suspected she might have just levitated them over if Charlie had been anyone else.

Charlie was looking at his glass with a skeptical brow, and Robin laughed quietly. “I never used to drink much of this, growing up,” he said. “But I dunno.” In school, he’d always figured the beer made in his backyard was the riskiest thing to try and get his hands on. That, and if he were smuggling to a remote castle, it seemed more worthwhile to go for a higher alcohol content. These days he was feeling more restrictive—and more nostalgic for home. “There’s something I like about it,” he said, mostly to himself. “Muggle stuff just doesn’t stand up.”

Magic seemed truly good for little but flash, Robin thought more the longer he lived—the longer he spent in No-Maj New York, the longer he played a Muggle on stage. He gazed down into his faintly shimmering magic-brewed beer. Sometimes, he thought too, sometimes a bit of flash made the difference.

He tipped his head back and swallowed half his pint. “Alright, then,” he said, shaking his head quickly and brandishing a grin at Charlie across the table. “I’ve got six sickles.” He gestured toward the jukebox behind them. “If you’re not up for singing, go line us up the best half-hour you can.”

[end]

Charlie glanced at the waitress, scratched the side of his long nose, “Same as him, cheers love.”

He looked up at Robin from the – shiny? – beer in front of him. “Nah mate, I prefer bitter over lager. Just don’t drink much magical stuff, you know?” Fflur knew, at least. Best not to say that out loud. Charlie lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip, frowned softly, then nodded. “S’alright, this.” Didn’t sound like a compliment, but it was intended as such – he was a typical Yorkshireman after all. Charlie figured he had probably had Davidson before at some point in his life, but he had never been overly fussy on brands as long as whatever it was was going to get him buzzed.  “Yeah, I s’pose,” he shrugged, “just what you’re used to, ain’t it?”

Charlie took a longer swig, and was surprised to see Robin was already ahead of him. “Shit,” he laughed, “didn’t know you were drinking.” He raised his hand and signalled for the waitress to bring them both another pint each. He looked at the sickles in Robin’s hand, rolled his eyes, and took them from his palm. “You reckon they’ve got any Elvis?” he smirked, took a sizeable drink from his beer, then got to his feet and headed for the juke box.

He slid the first sickle into the slot, scanned the options and quickly found Suspicious Minds/ He selected it with a grin to himself. Glancing back at their booth, Charlie could see the blonde woman from before dropping off their next round. A pang of guilt reverberated through his chest at being an enabler to Robin – now that Charlie knew what enablers were, anyway. Well, what Fflur didn’t know he knew, wouldn’t hurt.


END