never far away no matter what i'm hiding [robin]

She didn’t want to hear the clearly sarcastic ‘nice speech’ quip again; people she had never met before were commenting on it, as if her giving a speech was an invitation for everyone and their mothers to come talk to her. She had only had two glasses of champagne since the ceremony -- two! -- and half of that was for all the obligatory toasts, including her own. Point was, she wasn’t primed for mingling, especially not with people who only knew her as Charlie’s best man.

Fflur was pretty pleased with how speech had gone; it was almost word for word how she had rehearsed it, would have been exactly the same product if she had anticipated Charlie’s introduction. Then there was that ‘when you know, you know’ thing that had a bit more weight than she had originally intended it, but she supposed that had happened because of what she and Charlie had discussed prior to the ceremony. She liked the final product, though, and she hoped Robin had too. Of course, she didn’t want to elaborate; she could only handle so much cheesiness in one day.

She caught Robin’s eye and after she had motioned toward the outer edges of the courtyard enough times to assume he knew that she was asking him to meet over there, she turned back to who she could only assume was a positively lovely aunt of Kate’s, inquiring as to how, exactly, she knew Charlie. “Toilet,” she blurted out quickly, offering no other explanation or apology, only a small smile as she stepped around the woman. She didn’t risk anything with a side trip to the bar, instead making a beeline toward the general direction she had pointed Robin in. There were too many people standing about -- did they really know this many people? -- for her to get any confirmation that Robin was there before she was several feet away, but once she caught sight of him, alone, she smiled.

They hadn’t seen each other since early that morning, back when she still looked like herself. She stopped a couple feet away and did a turn, giving him a proper look. Sure, there was going to be photographic proof of her get up, but they weren’t exactly going to keep any of those photos in the house so this was really the only opportunity for Robin to form any memories of it if he wanted to.

Her dress was floor length, strapless, and red -- Gryffindor red, Charlie had insisted, as it that would make it more bearable -- and her hair had been curled and pinned and sprayed and she was pretty sure she had never worn so much makeup in her life but she had completed her obligations for the day, which meant one thing: Fflur slid past Robin and planted herself on the bench behind him, wasting no time before pulling of those dumb, strappy heels she had been tasked to wear.

Massaging her arch, Fflur rolled her eyes. “This--” she tilted her head back toward the crowd, the venue, the decorations, the party “--is kind of crazy, right?” She’d rather talk about how over the top everything was or how ridiculous she looked or how the flowers probably cost more than she made last year, anything except how she had to be back in Scotland in less than twelve hours and Robin would only be with her as far as New York. It felt like they were finally in a good rhythm, better than normal.

Robin felt more in control today than he’d been expecting to. Had picked up a tiny cocktail straw just to chew it and would go back for another once it split in two, but to his knowledge he hadn’t embarrassed himself or the groom, or even the bride.  Hadn’t spoken out of turn, hadn’t had a drop to drink. Hadn’t cheerfully introduced himself to anyone as Charlie’s former drug supplier when they asked how he knew the couple. He hadn’t done much of anything, really, besides wander around and sit where he was told. It was easier to be in control when he didn’t have Fflur next to him to whisper every thought that passed through his stupid head, or to tempt him into making her laugh. Without her there, though, Robin felt a little unmoored. As if he were bobbing about, still near the dock but free for the next gust of wind to shove him out toward open sea.

He had considered not coming to the wedding. Not out of disapproval that Charlie and Kate were getting married in the first place, he’d spent weeks trying to shove that aside. Parties were just sort of a sore spot in general. Not in theory—or most of the time even in practice. Just from a day or so ahead to right before walking in, when it felt suddenly, strongly, and for very little reason like going could not possibly end well. Robin had skipped two different weddings of radio friends in the last few years. The first had fallen by coincidence at the low point in a moody spell, but the second he’d backed out of the wedding party at the last second for fear of...whatever it was he feared.

Robin snorted lightly and adjusted the straw in his mouth. Dropping out of therapy to come here had been a mistake.

This friend’s wedding, he would have had an excuse not to come. He’d come straight here after the matinee and to stay he had to leave the evening performance up to Kevin. Robin had been using his taxing workweek to feel less guilty about everything for the last two months. But he felt guilty about the stag party too. Showing up and supporting Charlie was the least he could do after being an idiot about his life choices for weeks. Not to mention showing up and supporting Fflur, who’d risen to this with more love than Robin had expected and filled him with pride. As much as he might fear losing control, these days he feared being a poor friend even more.

As the wedding party finally split from their table Robin was tempted to grab Fflur immediately, but he was being in control today. He politely passed the time until she came to find him. Before long he saw her red dress coming toward him in the crowd. They met eyes again, for the first time since her toast.

Her sarcastic little twirl made Robin smile, so fondly he almost forgot to remember another small confusion of the day. He didn’t know what Fflur wanted to hear about this getup of hers. Whether it was so unlike her she’d be offended if he told her she was beautiful, or whether she felt beautiful enough to be offended if he commented on how unlike her it was. He’d had enough time unable to speak to her that he’d mulled it over so much he’d forgotten whatever he’d first thought upon seeing her. Robin studied her in an effort to remember. In truth it made him sort of uncomfortable seeing her look so different. Made him hope she wore something more Fflur to her wedding. Or at least the raccoon eyes. He’d grown fond of those.

“Dunno how many men in dresses Charlie knows, but you look loads better than most of the ones I’ve seen,” he said after a second, easily passed off as appreciative pondering. Fflur came closer and Robin stopped his hand halfway to ruffling her hair in greeting. He dropped it instead to brush her cheek. An unusually sweet greeting, for them—but they were here to celebrate love, after all.

“Weddings are so damn weird,” he replied, tearing his eyes from her to gaze across the packed house.  “Feel like I’m at one of their gigs, like...” He laughed lightly. “I’m here for him, but so are all these other people I don’t know, and none of us have spoken to him all afternoon. You have, though,” he said. “He doing alright?” Robin stuffed his mangled straw into his dress robes and kissed Fflur’s temple, which was least likely to taste of champagne. “Can’t believe he didn’t start weeping,” he said with another laugh. “I’ll have to start writing vows years in advance if I want to top you.”

Fflur leaned her cheek into Robin’s hand, eyes closed for half a second before continuing on to her task of losing her shoes. She sat and shrugged, watching him watch the crowd, giving him a proper once over now that he wasn’t staring right back at her. He cleaned up nice, at least looked a bit more comfortable than she felt. “So weird,” she agreed, rather than harp on about her whole look anymore. She (finally) succeeded in slipping off her shoes, wiggling her toes a bit to bring some feeling back into them.

“Yeah,” she agreed again, tossing her shoes to the ground and peeling her gaze off Robin and moving it back to the crowd. Everyone was here for them, or for Kate at least. Fflur had met most of Charlie’s guests by now, was practically best mates with his Nan, was eternally grateful that seemingly all of the remaining guests were either too young or too American to know anything about her other than the obvious: best man, not a man. “I have, yeah.” Fflur nodded, her gaze back on Robin again. “He’s fine.” He was more than fine, really. She had been reassured that this was what he wanted, many times over. “Nervous, but that only served to make him more like a real person, I think.” Good to know he had feelings, anyway.

She smirked as he kissed her, rolling her eyes as he laughed. “He couldn’t mess up his makeup,” she joked, laughing until she realized that Robin was talking about her speech rather than anything at the ceremony. “Yeah, well.” Fflur swallowed, banking that casual mention of getting married to circle back to it a bit more seriously at some other time. She smirked again; it was hard to do anything but agree with Robin, anyway. “Start writing them now, I guess.” Moreso that it would take years to top anything she could come up with in minutes, less so that she wanted to be any more upfront that she would totally, completely marry him.

“You’ve got stage presence now, though,” she added after a beat, standing up and taking the few steps toward him. “That’ll help, won’t it?” She laughed and wrapped her arms around his waist. It was far easier to joke about the distant future rather than the one that would be happening tomorrow, which she was doing her best to not think about at all. Being away from Robin hadn’t been ideal the last time, and while she was sure she was able to handle herself, she didn’t appreciate the necessity of it. She tightened her arms around him, clearing her mind up and bringing her thoughts back around to enjoying herself.

“Did you like that Welsh bit at the end, then?” She shrugged as well as she could without disturbing her embrace too much. “Was a little less sweet than the ‘when you know, you know’ part, but whatever.” That part hadn’t been for Charlie, anyway.

Need a foot massage, there?” Robin asked, watching Fflur stretch her toes. “Or a better pair of shoes, I reckon I’ve got those too.” He shook one shiny burgundy wingtip at her. “If the bride won’t murder you on sight for walking around in ‘em, that is.” Not to assume anything untoward of the new Mrs. Baker, but it felt reasonable to Robin that Fflur would put those sandals on in the first place only under threat.

“I’m glad,” he said, looking back to try and find Charlie on the dance floor. He didn’t have any luck. “I guess we’ll see how this turns out,” said Robin. “Guess we may as well be happy for him, so long as it makes him happy.” He paused for a couple seconds after this, unsure what exactly he was thinking about, but feeling ponderous all the same.

After placing a second kiss on the top of Fflur’s head, Robin pulled back and returned his gaze to her. “Oh, I will,” he said. “I’ll start off describing this moment right now, outfit of yours and all, and how that’s when I knew.” He leaned back against the hallway wall behind him. “When you know, you know, after all.”

Fflur’s suggestion was better. “No, you’re right,” said Robin with a cheerful laugh. “I’ll do my bit in character, then. What d’you think of marrying a gruff old Irish sea captain? I think I could knock that one out of the park.” He gave Fflur a lopsided smile. “That’s a baseball saying, by the way,” he added.  “I know how baseball’s played, now. It’s dreadful.”

Fflur had stood and slunk up close to him, arms around his waist. Slow music drifted in from the ballroom. Robin swayed them a little, teasingly. “You going to let me in on what that meant, then?” he asked, bumping her shoulder playfully. “Guessing something a bit off-color, obviously, but you’ll have to fill in the specifics.”

Fflur glanced down at Robin’s shoes, not bothering to hide her smile as she shrugged off his suggestion. She wasn’t about to disparage the bride on her wedding day -- or, at least this well within earshot of any of her family members, anyway. She looked out at the crowd again, searching for no face in particular, musing for a minute about Robin suggesting they’d just see how it’d all turn out. “Be happy for him,” she suggested with another shrug, deciding she didn’t need to reiterate any of her thoughts on the matter.

She nodded her head, waving her hand through the air, encouraging to finish up whatever he was saying about her outfit. At least Robin had swept past her nonchalant agreement that there would be an occasion for vows; she had already done feelings once that evening — which Robin had not failed to notice, apparently. “Caught that, did you?” She grinned as she looked up at him, shrugging off the embarrassment that was creeping up on her; it was probably more than she would say to him in private, let alone in front of people, but a wedding had seemed like an appropriate occasion. It was out there and he hadn’t run off, anyway.
 
A gruff old Irish sea captain? “Mmm, thought you’d never ask.” She’d take Robin in any form, really, but she grimaced, more about the baseball than anything else. She had never watched a game, nor ever had any inclination to, and she didn’t think she was about to start. It wasn’t football, or rugby, or quidditch, or anything enjoyable, was it? No point.

There were more important things, though. She shrugged as much as she could without having to loosen up her grip, doing her best to not let on how much she had amused herself with her little mistranslation -- nor how much she was enjoying the little bit of dancing they were doing now. “A bit off-color, maybe, but tame, considering.” She bumped his shoulder back lightly. “It’s ‘Up yours, arseholes’ -- there’s one Welsh bloke here who’s a bit of a dick but I think Welsh solidarity will keep Kate in the dark.” She laughed, but she fell quiet after a few more seconds.

“What time’s the portkey tomorrow?” The first one to New York, which put them there just in time for her to catch the next to Hogsmeade. She tried to do the mental math, to figure out how much time they had left, if it was enough time to waste on laughing at her own stupid jokes.

“‘Course I caught it,” said Robin gently. He looked out over the crowd again. “Believe me, I’m glad to hear you know too.” Awkwardly, he glanced back down at Fflur in his arms. Merlin, she looked so different than usual. He could have sworn her face had been painted into another shape entirely. A beautiful one, of course—but it made his brain find talking to her strange somehow, especially about things that mattered.

Robin couldn’t wait to get home and watch her wipe all the makeup off, take her hair down, unstrap her sandals and unlace her dress. Get her a potion to get the champagne taste off her tongue so he could kiss her proper.

It helped when she smiled. “Well, that’s only an option,” said Robin,  and he grinned with enthusiasm—feeling himself start to spin out a little but enjoying the feeling too much to rein himself in. “I know you always liked my Dumbledore—or Celestina Warbeck?—Oh, no, this one’s good—“ He brushed a hand through the front of his hair and fluffed it up. Assuming an Elvis Presley voice and a smoldering stare, he asked teasingly, “What about the King, little lady?”

He grinned widely as he was let in on the only dirty joke she could get away with in her speech, but then Fflur mentioned leaving, and Robin felt whatever energy was driving him slam into some wall somewhere in his gut. His smile froze. “Er, round eleven-thirty, I think,” he said, the words feeling thin on his tongue. As if he didn’t know it was eleven thirty-four exactly. His memory was funny with things. He was less forgetful now than he had once been, there was a potion that helped with that. But some stupid things still stuck more than others, like the times that bad things would happen. Robin leaned his cheek onto Fflur’s sleek hair.

“Maybe we should leave early,” he said. “So we’ll have time before. Or, well—it depends.” He’d been imagining the few hours before heading over to MACUSA, soaking up her sunlit presence enough to keep him sane another month. But he could love her late, too. Stay up until two or three, sleep until ten or eleven. “Do you want the night or the morning?”

Fflur smiled as Robin looked away, happy to leave things at that, each of them acknowledging that they knew, they knew they knew, etc. It was probably as far into expressing her feelings as she would get, and she figured that he knew that, too. If she was a different, more thoughtful person, she might use the moment to reflect on their past year, how she never could have expected all of this, but she liked thinking about the distant future -- instead of the sort that would happen tomorrow -- for a minute or two.

“Oh?” So she had more options, lucky her. Dumbledore? “Always.” Celestina Warbeck? “Now you’re talkin’.” But then: Elvis. Fflur touched her forehead with the back of her hand and feigned swooning, as if the only reason she remained standing was because Robin already had his arm around her. That was the one, obviously. “Actually,” she laughed as she straightened up, “How about all three?” She raised an eyebrow and shrugged, snaking her arm back around his waist.

Eleven-thirty. Fflur had no idea what time it was now, but she didn’t need it to know that it was far too late and they had too little time to spare. “Yeah, maybe.” How early was ‘early’? Did he mean now? A good option but not the best one — it was still so early and she had hardly enjoyed herself yet. But she’d be with Robin so it didn’t matter.

“Oh, the night.” He knew what to expect from morning-Fflur, big hair, smudged eyeliner, none of it on purpose. “It’s in all our favors.” She laughed before kissing him quickly, reaching up on her tiptoes for a brief second before needing her feet flat on the ground again. “Haven’t showcased my moves yet.” She took a step back and wiggled her shoulders, off the beat of the song playing, only managing to keep her face serious for a few seconds. “We’re dressed to impress, or whatever.” She wasn’t as clever as him; it didn’t matter. “C’mon.” Fflur reached for his hand and, leaving her horrible shoes behind, pulled him back toward the crowd of people; he was all she could focus on, anyway.

[[ out ]]

Robin laughed, hooking his arm tighter around Fflur’s neck and pressing a harder kiss to her temple. “You got it, darlin’.” Her arms slid tighter around him in response, and he rocked a little to the music. It’d slowed down now. Probably sometime soon Charlie and Kate would be out there having their first dance for everyone to watch, but Robin and the Best Man had time to be here for a little while longer.

When his heartbeat had slowed enough, he spoke again. “Y’know, honestly—I don’t think I’d want it to be a joke.” If he were good at this sort of talk he’d have looked into Fflur’s eyes, but he stared out toward the wedding instead. Baby steps. “I mean I wouldn’t want to go all this way, like...” He flicked a hand around at the ballroom, and down at Fflur’s dress. “With the shoes, and everything, but, I dunno. I don’t think anyone’s ever really pictured me getting married, at least not since—“ No, steer away from Nerys, not now. “Y’know, before I was such a fuckup. It’d kind of be nice to at least halfway not let my mum down.”

He paused. “And like, I love you,” he said, chin resting on the top of her head. He sort of hoped she could feel the words in his throat as he spoke them. “That’s not a joke, not all the time.”

Fflur moved back toward the dance floor and Robin watched her shimmy in her bare feet, feeling like the not-joke of it might burst through his chest. “Figure it is a waste of that dress,” he replied, a lopsided smile creeping onto his face again. She offered her hand and he took it with a light, mocking elegance. Could he look at it anymore without imagining a ring there?

“Lead the way, sir,” he said. “I’m ready to wake up late.”