Work Text
Alan was annoyed.
Sure, that could be said of him at any point during his day. He was annoyed when his boss insisted on him changing the company’s website’s programming to be something his coworkers still held up as an example of what not to do. He was annoyed when Sam first regarded him with suspicion and forced him to sit through an hour-long interrogation about his “intentions with Robin” (whatever that meant. But apparently rolling his eyes was not the answer she sought). And he was deeply annoyed when people refused to listen.
So forgive him for being annoyed when a paparazzo decided to intrude on his and his best friend’s time together.
Robin chuckled at the frown on his face. “Turn that frown upside down, Alan. I’m used to this.”
And she was. Her work in the field of zoology had garnered her much attention over the past few years and elevated her to the status of a celebrity. Alan was proud of her (not that he would ever say it, of course. He just wasn’t that type of person, and they both knew it), but now they were busier than ever. They rarely had time to even call, much less actually meet in person.
“A pattern emerged six months ago. The presence of one paparazzo seems to indicate the presence of the rest of the paparazzi,” Alan said.
“Yeah, but what are the chances of one of them actually coming up to us?”
Then five other people stood up with cameras in their hands, and one quickly approached.
“Astronomically high,” Alan mumbled.
Whatever Robin would have responded with was obscured when a paparazzo grabbed her hand.
“Oh my god, are you really Robin Goodall?” the person asked, their eyes practically sparkling.
Robin raised an eyebrow and shook her hand out of the grip. “Yes…?”
“I’m your biggest fan! I loved your work with the penguins especially. I would love to see them up close. Can you hook me up with someone?”
“Sorry,” Robin said, her smile sharpening into a polite one. “You need at least a master’s in zoology if you want to go to Antarctica. I don’t make the rules.”
“No, there must be some person. Come on, tell me. I’m trustworthy.”
“Haha, I can’t trust that, can I? I don’t know you.”
Alan’s fists clenched. He never understood why Robin was so polite, and he didn’t understand why she was being polite now. Anger and frustration boiled in his gut. It was too tempting to just up and drag her away, but he would never hear the end of it if he did.
Then the paparazzo grabbed her shoulder, and all bets on a peaceful resolution were off.
It was only when a red mark was branded onto the third party’s cheek, his knuckles buzzed, and the entire cafe went silent that he realized just what he had done.
The person reeled back, holding their face and wincing in pain. “Ow! What the hell was that for?”
“If someone feels uncomfortable in your presence, it is best to leave,” Alan hissed. “Robin had made it very clear she felt uncomfortable, yet you ignored that.”
Robin’s eyes were wide and her mouth gaping. She turned to him with a glare. “Alan! You can’t just punch people in the face like that!”
“Why not? They were bothering you.”
“That’s just… not a thing you do. Usually, you use words first.”
“That’s what you were trying just then, no?”
Robin groaned and grabbed the cuff of his sleeve. “Ugh, I’ll explain it to you later. Right now, we have to go.”
“What?”
Robin answered by taking off down the street, dragging him with her until he got the message and ran alongside her.
They stopped once they had made it to an alley at the edge of the city, right between Alan’s apartment building and some real estate office Alan had never noticed until now. The two took a moment to catch their breath.
Robin huffed. “Alan, you can’t just punch people out of nowhere. Either you use violence in self-defense or you don’t do it at all.”
This was puzzling. The unspoken social contract between inhabitants of a city dictated that everyone mind their own business unless absolutely necessary, such as if an ambulance needed to be called or someone was blocking a path. As far as he knew, breaching Robin’s personal space was not included in those terms. And if somebody broke the terms of the social contract, any retaliation outside of outright murder was generally permissible.
“You’re thinking of it in terms of contracts again, aren’t you? Stop that.”
Alan frowned. “Is it not the appropriate way to think about this?”
“No!” Robin took a deep breath and sighed. She forced her face into a calm expression, then locked eyes with him. “Listen, Alan, you just don’t hit people outside of self-defense. That self-defense is violence towards you, not words. And you’re a tall, well-built guy. You could easily kill someone in one punch.”
“My strength isn’t even that high compared to the national average.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“Don’t punch people unless they punch you first.”
“... Ah. That makes much more sense.” Alan stopped. He raised a finger to his cheek, thinking back to the person back at the cafe. If he considered the addition to the social contract Robin had just taught him, then Alan had just violated the contract and thus should feel at least somewhat bad about it.
But Alan had no regrets. That person was annoying and completely had that coming.
“If the media comes after you tomorrow, just apologize,” Robin sighed, “And don’t make it sound too sarcastic either. You have the tendency to make everything you say sound sarcastic.”
Alan raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah, see?”
“I did that on purpose.”
“Oh. You’re hilarious, Alan.”
“Somehow, I don’t believe you truly think that.”
“Not at this second, no.”
“I’m pleased we can be honest with each other.”
Robin laughed and elbowed him. “Let’s just try enjoying the rest of today. We can go to your apartment since it’s right there. Do you still have that console I gave you?”
Then the rush of shame finally came. Alan averted his eyes and fiddled with his thumbs. “Um… It’s experiencing some… technical difficulties.”
“You didn’t try to combine multiple consoles again, did you?”
“So what if I did?”
“Great. Alan, computer programming extraordinaire, can’t figure out how to play games a five-year-old can operate.” Robin searched through her purse before pulling out a deck of cards. “You’re lucky I carry this around with me everywhere. I’ll teach you how to play poker.”
Alan shrugged.
And with that, the two walked into the apartment complex, leaving the events of the day behind them.
Alan woke up to one hundred two texts from Robin and six missed calls from Sam.
According to Robin and his personal prior experiences, the Sam Scale was an efficient method of determining what had just happened without actually speaking to her. One missed call from Sam meant she was slightly worried. Nothing to write home about. Two missed calls meant the person she was contacting hasn’t responded to her other methods of communication, such as text or email. Three missed calls meant something major had happened, and four meant she was absolutely devastated with emotion. Five calls or above meant the apocalypse had happened.
Alan slid his curtain to the side and peered out the window.
Nope. No apocalypse. Not yet, anyway.
Alan read through the texts Robin had sent him. She was generally better at communicating during distress. Maybe he could piece together what happened.
Robin:
ALAN
Robin:
alan i swear if you dont wake up right now ill kill you
Robin:
ok i wont do that
Robin:
BUT ILL SAY SOME VERY HARSH WORDS
Robin:
ok no
Robin:
but look at this
Robin Goodall sent a link.
More frenzied texts followed, but Alan tapped on the link first.
The headline was in bold capital letters, reading, “ROBIN GOODALL DATING?!?” (god, he abhorred this already). The rest of the article detailed the instance of him punching a paparazzo yesterday (complete with pictures!), then made vague speculations on Robin being in a romantic relationship with him. Absolutely no reliable sources were present. Instead of a full name, a username was typed where the author’s name was supposed to be. It would be stupid for anyone to believe any part of this was true.
Upon scrolling through the thirteen articles Robin sent, it became very clear that the human race was doomed.
The door to his apartment swung open before he could fully analyze what had just happened. A familiar face stepped in and pulled him up before plopping down on the bed with him.
Alan blinked. “Good morning, Robin. I forgot I gave you a key to my apartment.”
“Don’t worry. I would’ve found another way in without it,” Robin said with a smile. Her smile disappeared. “Did you read the texts I sent you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you call Sam back at any point?”
“Absolutely not. I have basic self-preservation instincts.”
“You’re smarter than I give you credit for,” Robin said, curling her legs into a cross-legged position. “So, the media thinks we’re dating, and so does Sam. One is delighted, the other is pissed. Can you guess which is which?”
“Really? I would have thought both would be angry.”
“Me too. But people were congratulating me on Twitter, so…”
Alan looked her up and down before frowning. “Why don’t you just tell Sam the truth? The media took an event out of context. That happens all the time.”
Robin furrowed her eyebrows. “You think Sam would just believe me? You clearly haven’t met her.”
“Trust me, I have.”
“She already thinks we’re dating. If I tell her differently, she’ll assume I’m lying to her and get even angrier.”
Alan was sure Robin’s prediction of Sam’s actions were accurate. They haven’t ever been wrong before, after all. But besides telling the truth, what else could they do, live out a lie?
Actually…
“Are you suggesting we pretend to be romantically interested in each other?” Alan asked.
“Can’t you just say dating like a normal person?”
“Fine. Dating.”
“Thank you. And yes, I am.” Robin cleared her throat, and the pink that was previously rising on her face faded. “Everyone already believes it. I don’t want to be the one to tell all those people on Twitter to stop celebrating, and I definitely don’t want Sam to think I’m lying to her. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I think this is the best way to go about things.”
Alan paused to think.
“They think you’re sweet, Alan. I don’t think another chance will arise where somebody other than me actually thinks you have emotions.”
“Thank you for that completely unnecessary commentary. Allow me to process your words.”
Robin had been his friend since their high school days, when he was a much,
much
shittier person. It was a wonder she was still around twenty years later. Throughout those years, she had proved to be a thoughtful, perceptive person with ideas that generally worked out in the end. Who was to say this idea was any different? Not to mention he still felt somewhat indebted to her for sticking with him for so long…
Alan shrugged. “I’m not opposed to it.”
Robin’s face brightened. “Really? Thank you! I have to go to work now, but I’ll talk the deets with you later.”
“Please just say details like a normal person.”
“No can do, buddy,” Robin said. She jumped up and strolled towards the door with a bounce in her step. “Bye!”
Alan waved. “Farewell.”
The door shut behind her, and Alan was left to wonder if agreeing to this was really the best idea.
“Yo, Alan,” one of his coworkers called during his lunch break. “Did Goodall make that lunch for you?”
Alan raised an eyebrow and set his fork down. It was a simple meal of chicken, broccoli, and hard-boiled eggs. He didn’t understand what was so special about it, nor why Robin would ever make something of the sort for him. “Absolutely not. She’s a disaster human being who can’t boil water, much less cook an actual meal.”
“Woah. You sure you should be saying that about your girlfriend?”
Ah, right. He had forgotten about that whole situation.
Alan shrugged. “She’s aware of her weaknesses. And these statements do not hold any malice in them, please do not misunderstand me.”
“So you cook for her?”
Well, there was that time in college when Alan had gotten so fed up of Robin’s diet of pizza and chocolate that he made the two-hour commute every week to hand her a week’s worth of proper meals (though Alan could never confirm if she actually ate it or caved and fed her lunch to a bunch of pitiful street dogs. That was just the type of person she was). Then there was a few days after they graduated college, when Robin was so hungover Alan took it upon himself to take care of her for the day, which included cooking meals. The more he thought about it, the more he could confirm Robin sucked at functioning as a human being.
She was a world-renowned scientist who had made multiple Earth-shattering discoveries, and she couldn’t chop a tomato. She was the smartest dumbest friend he’s ever had.
“Sure,” Alan said.
His coworker grinned. “Aw, that’s sweet. I’m leaving early. Have a good rest of your day, Alan.”
“You as well.”
When the incident repeated itself over and over again with a set of different coworkers in the next few days, Alan found that he didn’t mind being asked. In fact, it became his favorite part of the work day.
“Are you Robin Goodall’s boyfriend?” a teenager had asked him at a restaurant. A group of other teenagers were gathered several tables away, staring at them in anticipation. Their reason for staring was blatant.
Still, Alan maintained a calm demeanor and shrugged. “I suppose so.”
“How did it feel punching that guy in the face?”
“Absolutely fantastic.”
“Why are you so tall?”
“I’m not sure.”
The teenager had either gotten bored of his curt answers or detected the coldness behind his words, because they thanked him for his time and returned to their friend group.
Alan placed another forkful of spinach into his mouth and leaned back in his chair, thinking.
Neither he nor Robin had ever had a friend group as close knit as that one, did they? The reasons for his absence of a group of people who more than tolerated his presence were obvious, but in hindsight, Robin had missed out on a lot of experiences because she insisted on sticking with him. He had to admit he felt a tad guilty at that revelation.
Alan’s grip on his fork tightened.
“It just occurred to me the other day that I must apologize for my behaviors in high school. I was observing a group of teenagers a few days ago, and it made me realize you were always held back by my presence and weren’t able to create those kinds of bonds. My deepest apologies.”
“... Alan, you’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.”
That was amusing. Robin had always been the one lecturing him to speak from the heart, not from the brain. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t.
Alan leaned back in his desk chair, finally tearing his gaze from his work emails. He stared at the flat ceiling above him and adjusted the grip on his phone. “What do you mean by that?”
Robin sighed. “Alan, I wouldn’t have stuck around this far if I didn’t really want to be friends with you. And I’m not dumb. I liked you better than those other people anyway. We all make sacrifices in life. That just happened to be one of them, and I don’t regret it.”
“You have proven yourself many times to not possess much intelligence,” was the first dumb thing that had tumbled out of his mouth. And then when what he said processed in his head, he wanted to send himself tumbling down with them.
Luckily, Robin just laughed. “You’re not too good with emotions, are you? That’s okay. Can we talk about the details behind our relationship now? People keep asking me stuff, but I don’t know how to answer.”
Well, that was as far as Alan would get with that question. And he supposed Robin wouldn’t lie to him for twenty years either, so he swept his doubts under the rug.
“I’m unsure of which details of our relationship you would like to fabricate,” Alan said.
“Well, we should probably establish how we became a couple, right?”
“Do you have any suggestions?”
There was a silence on the other end of the phone as Robin stopped to think. “Sam would kill me if it went on for years without me telling her. So, I think it should be recent. Say, two months ago.”
Alan nodded and opened a sticky note on his computer. “What other details would you like to include?”
“Two months ago was February, right? Let’s just say you confessed to me on Valentine’s Day with flowers and chocolate.”
“Absolutely not.”
“That was a joke. We can say we were watching a movie together, then I popped the ‘What are we?’ question.”
“Which movie?”
“Um… some fish documentary.”
“Very creative, Robin.”
“It’s not like you can do any better,” Robin scoffed.
Alan had to admit she was right about that. He conceded and typed the details they had onto the sticky note. “What else would you like to define?”
The rest of the hour was spent with Robin verbally laying out the details of their “relationship” as Alan either typed her ideas down or disputed them. The discussion flowed as well as any other conversation between them would: no awkward pauses, plenty of banter, memories playfully being used against each other. If this was what their relationship was projected to be like, Alan had no objections.
Maybe he wouldn’t regret this after all.
He spoke too soon.
“So… yeah. Be prepared tomorrow,” came Robin’s sheepish voice from the other end of the phone.
Alan shut his eyes and took a deep breath. In four seconds, out four seconds. In four, out four. Remember this wasn’t Robin’s fault (except it totally was).
“Robin Goodall,” Alan said, his voice level.
“... Yes?”
“Are you telling me you sincerely thought it was a good idea to agree to bring both of us onto a talk show to discuss our faux relationship?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Listen, Alan, if we’re going to make this believable, we need to be able to talk about it. Being secretive will only draw more attention to it.”
Computers were easy. They only did what they were told. On the other hand, human psychology was a bitch. There were too many unspoken rules with people to keep track of. And even then, those rules depended on the human in question, location on the planet, established relationships, and so much more Alan couldn’t hope to comprehend. A group of people was even worse. So many different factors to consider. And a mass of people? No. His brain shut down.
Then she added, “I’ll take you book-shopping afterwards.”
… His brain rebooted.
“You are the absolute worst,” Alan sighed. “Retrieve me at the designated time. And I will hold you to that promise.”
Robin cheered. “I knew I could count on you! See you at eight.”
“Farewell.”
The call ended, and Alan’s gaze drifted towards his closed closet door. There were exactly three pairs of jeans, two T-shirts, a coat, a jacket, and one set of dress clothes in there. The type of talk show Robin had agreed for them to be featured on was definitely the type to make them wear formal clothing. Problem was, he hadn’t worn a tuxedo since high school prom. Not that he even had one to wear.
Alan stopped before picking up his phone and tapping on a contact. “Hello, Robin? I require your assistance.”
“And then I had to help him find a tuxedo at one in the morning. Of course, I had the privilege of laughing at him the entire adventure, but I won’t claim he had the same experience.”
Alan sighed as Robin and the host laughed at her anecdote. A laugh track played alongside them.
His imagination of what being on a talk show would be like was much more idealized than reality, he had to admit. The lights were hot, the sheer number of cameras were uncomfortable, the questions the host asked were boring, and
he was going to destroy that goddamn laugh track if it played one more time—
“And you, Alan?” the host asked, bringing him out of his rage. “Any funny stories to tell about Robin?”
Goodness, he absolutely despised the way the host talked to him as if they were friends. But Robin didn’t seem concerned. In fact, she reclined back into the plush couch they sat on, her hands on her lap and legs crossed. There was no tension evident in her body. It was clear she trusted that Alan wouldn’t say anything too embarrassing.
But what constituted as too embarrassing? Alan wasn’t blind to his flaws as a person; his social abilities were far below average, even with all of Robin’s help. He could not logically make the call without possibly stepping over a boundary and onto a landmine of regret. If there was one thing Alan absolutely could not live with, it would be hurting the person who had never given up on him.
So, Alan shrugged. “I cannot read her mind, so I don’t know which stories she is comfortable with me telling. As such, I will remain silent on this question. However, if Robin would like to retell any of her experiences to the population, she is free to do so.”
Both Robin and the host’s eyes shot open, staring at an unflinching Alan in silence.
Robin was the first to break the silence. “You—You always told me you would happily bring up everything in high school if we were ever interviewed about this.”
“It was this phenomenon called a joke, Robin. You are far more important than some interview.”
She stared at him with a distant gaze, a look Alan had learned roughly translated to “Do you really mean that?” (And of course, he did. He was never as good of a liar as Robin was, and Robin wasn’t a very talented liar in the first place).
Then her lips curled up into a soft, genuine smile. Her eyes filled with adoration. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.” She turned back to the host with a more energetic air, something more akin to her online persona. “Anyway, when I was first being interviewed for a job, my interviewer held their hand out for a handshake.”
“And what did you do?” the interviewer gasped, as if that was the most suspenseful situation they had heard of anyone being in.
“I fist-bumped them. They looked at me with the most confused face I had ever seen, then I realized my mistake.”
Another laugh track played as the host bent over, cackling. They followed up with another question after the laughter passed.
Alan settled into the couch, ready to stay silent for another two hours under the hot lights of the studio, before a question caught his attention.
“Robin, I’m sure you’re aware of the criticisms people have of your boyfriend. What made you fall for him in the first place?”
That damned organ in Alan’s chest pounded harder. They hadn’t discussed what they would answer if asked this.
But Robin didn’t hesitate to answer. “You know, in high school, we met and instantly hated each other. I thought he was arrogant, and he thought I was stupid. The only reason we became friends is because a teacher assigned us a partner project and we were forced to work together.”
Ah, right. That was a thing that happened. Alan still had fond memories of him and Robin fighting over who could control the mouse on their shared computer during work days.
“I guess his first impression of me was valid. I was completely wrong.” Robin paused. “Well, not
completely.
He was kind of an asshole in high school. No offense, Alan.”
Alan shrugged. That was a true statement. There was no point in disputing it.
Robin smiled, her voice softer, even fond. “But we ended up here somehow, and we both know better now. I had never met such an intelligent, interesting person before meeting him. He listens to my ideas and gives me honest feedback.”
“You’re still bitter I wouldn’t allow you to assimilate into a pack of coyotes for a month, aren’t you?”
“A bit. But in all seriousness, he’s had my back for over twenty years now. We’ve had so much fun over these past few decades, got into trouble together, navigated through life together. It’s impossible to imagine a life without him. Nor would I ever want to.”
Alan’s heart stopped. He liked to believe he was good at detecting lies, but he clearly had to reconsider that characteristic. There was no way Robin wasn’t lying, yet he couldn’t detect a single lie.
“Aw, that’s so sweet!” the interviewer cooed. They cleared their throat before asking another question, one much less interesting than the previous.
Alan wiped the sweat off his palms and swallowed the lump in his throat. Again, he cursed his heart for acting out like an overexcited puppy.
The rest of the interview passed peacefully. But there was something still gnawing at him even as they walked to the bookstore together afterwards.
“Robin, were you lying at any point during the interview?”
“I guess not. Were you lying?”
It took approximately half a second for him to realize he hadn’t been lying either.
Alan shook his head. “No, I don’t believe so.”
The implications were too much to handle. Alan hid his face behind a book, dreading the inevitable shutdown of his brain in the event he thought about it too much. And the probability of that event happening was one hundred percent.
Robin hummed as she turned the page of another book, blissfully unaware.