Chapter Text
The days blurred together for Robin. After her conversation with Sascha, she'd had a brief moment of clarity—an escape from the fog that clouded her thoughts—but it never lasted.
The brief moments of normalcy, when adrenaline provided a sense of stability, were growing shorter. The sleepwalking episodes were becoming more frequent.
She could feel the physical toll. Her heartbeat was irregular, her nerves raw, and the constant fight to stay alert was exhausting. But she didn’t know how to stop. She had to keep moving, pretending everything was fine.
The next time she woke up in front of the fridge, it wasn’t a surprise. What unsettled her was the hollow sensation in her chest, a distance she couldn’t place.
She’d used another adrenaline shot earlier that day, but its effects were fading, leaving her vulnerable to whatever else lurked beneath the surface. Her fingers traced the cold handle of the fridge, her eyes glazed as she stared at its contents. She wasn’t hungry. She didn’t know why she was standing there.
"Robin?" Melina’s voice cut through the fog.
Robin froze, her hand still gripping the door handle. She blinked and turned, finding Melina in the doorway, still in her pajamas, sleep clinging to her. The concern on Melina’s face made Robin feel small.
"Not again," Melina whispered, stepping closer. "What happened this time?"
Robin opened her mouth but couldn’t form any words. She didn’t know how to explain it, even to herself. The adrenaline wasn’t supposed to wear off like this, leaving her empty. She wasn’t supposed to feel broken.
"I—I don’t know," she finally said, her voice shaking. "I just woke up here."
Melina stepped closer, her hands reaching for Robin’s arms. She pried her fingers from the handle and held them to her chest before reaching for the waistband of Robin’s pajama bottoms. Robin already knew she was searching for marks left behind by the needles.
"You’re doing it again," Melina said softly, trying to keep the accusing tone from creeping into her voice.
"I… don’t know how to stop," Robin whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them. The admission made her feel small, vulnerable. She hated it. She wasn’t supposed to be weak. She wasn’t supposed to rely on drugs or shots to make it through the day. But that was exactly what she was doing.
"Robin…" Melina began, her voice gentle but firm.
Robin shook her head quickly, trying to push the words away. "I’m fine," she insisted, her tone clipped. "I’m managing." But deep down, she knew it was a lie. She hadn’t felt fine in so long.
Melina’s hands cupped Robin’s face, forcing her to look at her. "I’m not going to let you keep doing this to yourself," she said, her voice stronger now. "You have to let me help you. We’ll figure it out, together. I promise."
Robin wanted to pull away. She wanted to shut down, to shut Melina out. But she didn’t. Because, deep down, she knew Melina was right. It wasn’t working. She couldn’t keep pretending, couldn’t keep using the adrenaline as a crutch, couldn’t keep waking up in strange places with no memory of how she got there.
But what was the alternative?
Her mind flickered to Miguel. The man who had promised her solutions, promised her answers that didn’t involve temporary fixes. She had been reaching out to him, but with his lack of solutions, she was starting to doubt it. She was starting to wonder if he was just another way to delay the inevitable. Another set of strings tying her down when she needed to break free.
She swallowed hard, the pressure building in her chest. "What if I can’t fix it?" she muttered, barely audible.
Melina’s thumb brushed across Robin’s cheek, and her gaze softened. "You don’t have to fix it all by yourself. We’ll find a way, but you have to trust me. You have to trust that I won’t let you go through this alone."
"I don’t know what I’m doing," Robin confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know who I am anymore."
Melina pulled her into an embrace, her face tucked against Robin’s shoulder. "You’re still Robin," she whispered. "And I’m not going anywhere. You’ll find your way back. I won’t let you fall."
Robin closed her eyes, trying to breathe through the panic that clawed at her. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel the comfort of Melina’s touch.
But deep inside, a part of her was still terrified. What if the Red Room’s reach was deeper than she could ever escape? What if it had already broken something inside her that couldn’t be fixed?
She didn’t want to think about it.
The days blurred together for Robin. There were moments when she could almost pretend things were normal, when the fog in her mind lifted just enough for her to function. But those moments were growing shorter, and the weight of her own thoughts felt more suffocating each time.
She started to feel it—the distance. Not just from herself, but from everyone around her. Her family. They didn’t say anything, but the looks they gave her when they thought she wasn’t paying attention—silent glances filled with concern, confusion, maybe even fear—cut deeper than any words could.
Her children especially. They didn’t act scared of her, but something about the way they looked at her made her feel like a stranger in her own skin. Like she wasn’t their mother, just someone wearing her face.
Natasha sometimes regarded her as if she didn’t know who she was. It was in the pauses before they answered her questions, their eyes scanning her like they were searching for something they had lost. It was in the silence that followed, when they exchanged glances, unsure if they should respond.
That scared Robin more than anything. It made her wonder if she might become a danger to them.
The thought gnawed at her, eroding whatever certainty she had left. She wasn’t just losing pieces of herself; she was losing her family too.
She didn’t know when it started, but one day she realized she was only half-present in her own life. Even when she was with her family, her mind drifted, thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind, leaving her unaware of her actions. The adrenaline shots she clung to—yet hated herself for needing—became a lifeline. Every time she felt herself slipping, she’d take another shot, hoping it would provide clarity. It worked—for a while.
But the clarity never lasted. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, constantly teetering, trying to hold on to something solid. Every shot made the ground beneath her feel like it was crumbling. She could feel the toll it was taking on her body, on her mind. Worse still, it was pulling her away from her family.
Melina had tried to talk to her. Robin could see the concern in her partner's eyes, hear the softness in her voice when she said her name. Melina knew something was wrong. But Robin was too proud, too afraid to admit it. She couldn’t let anyone see how broken she felt.
“I’m fine,” Robin would say, the words slipping out like a reflex. “I’m just… tired. It’s nothing.”
She didn’t want to face it, but the more she tried to push it away, the more it crept into her mind. Her children were noticing. They weren’t saying anything, but they were looking at her differently. Natasha started monitoring her moods, adjusting her behavior.
That terrified Robin.
She couldn’t be the mother who broke her children. She couldn’t be the one who left them with memories of someone they once knew—someone they once loved—but who had become a shadow of that person. A stranger in her own home.
That night, after another episode of sleepwalking that left her standing in front of the fridge with the light burnt out from hours of being left open, Robin stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Her face was pale, her eyes bloodshot and tired. She barely recognized the woman in the glass.
The exhaustion was unmistakable, but it was more than that. Her eyes were vacant, like she wasn’t really seeing herself at all.
She thought back to the times when she felt like herself—the times when she could hold her children without fear bubbling up. The times when Melina would smile at her, and it felt like they were still a family. But all of that seemed so far away now, like it belonged to someone else.
Her heart raced as she searched her reflection for some answer, some glimmer of recognition. But there was nothing. Just the hollow stare of someone who wasn’t sure if they even existed anymore.
She couldn’t keep pretending. She wasn’t just losing herself; she was losing her family too.
And yet, she didn’t know how to ask for help. She couldn’t bear the thought of her family seeing the full extent of her breakdown. Melina had been trying to get through to her, but Robin couldn’t bear the weight of their concern. She couldn’t admit how broken she felt. How much she feared becoming someone they couldn’t trust.
She had to protect them. She had to keep up the facade. They couldn’t know how much she was struggling. She couldn’t let them see the cracks in her mind, the fear that she might hurt them—even though she didn’t want to. She’d do anything to keep them safe.
But no matter how hard she tried to hold it together, the unease in her chest was growing. The fear that one day something would snap—that one day, she wouldn’t be able to control it anymore. That one day, she’d wake up and realize she had hurt them.
She could feel it—an undeniable truth beginning to sink in. Something was wrong with her, and she didn’t know how much longer she could hide it.
The mirror reflected a woman she didn’t recognize, someone losing herself piece by piece. Robin clenched her fists, trying to steady her breath, but it didn’t help. She had no idea where to go from there. How to fix it. How to fix herself.
The woman in the reflection had tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked so weary and sad.
The old Robin would have yelled at her for being weak.
The current one couldn’t even manage to be disappointed.
Melina stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Robin from behind as she stood at the counter, absently tracing the edges of a cold mug. The silence in the kitchen was suffocating, the atmosphere shifting in response to the tension swirling around Robin. Melina knew her wife wasn’t okay, but wasn’t sure if Robin was ready to admit it.
She knew Robin well enough to recognize when the act was wearing thin. When the feigned calmness could no longer conceal the raw panic threatening to break through. Robin had always been good at pretending, but Melina could see the cracks in her composure. It was starting to feel like they were heading toward a breaking point. Melina wasn’t sure how much longer she could watch Robin fall apart and stay silent about it.
“Robin,” Melina finally dared to address her as she stepped into the kitchen. “You’re doing it again.”
Robin didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge her presence immediately. Melina could see her shoulders stiffen, the subtle signs that her wife was listening. She waited a moment before taking another step closer. Robin wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all Melina.
“I’m fine,” Robin muttered, her voice carrying the weariness Melina could feel. It was the same lie Robin repeated over and over, even when it became clear she didn’t believe it herself.
Melina’s eyes narrowed as she finally stepped into Robin’s line of sight. Her gaze was fixed, searching Robin’s face for any sign that she was there, but there was just the hollow exhaustion of someone who had been pretending for far too long. Robin’s face was a mask, but the cracks in it were undeniable.
"You’re not fine," Melina said quietly, her voice more forceful now, though it still held that thread of care. "I know how you’ve been. You’re slipping. You’re barely holding it together."
Robin froze. Melina saw her clench her fists, her breath hitch. But there was no response, no deflection. It was as if the weight of the truth had taken the wind out of her sails.
"I’m managing," Robin muttered, shaky but defiant. "I’m just… off. It’ll pass."
It was a lie, and they both knew it. The weight of it hung thick and suffocating in the air. Robin wasn’t managing. She was barely holding on.
Melina took a step closer. "You need help, Robin. You can’t keep going like this. You’re losing yourself. Did you call Miguel? Have you kept up with the adrenaline? Will you—"
Robin interrupted with a loud cry, "I can’t keep going like this, Melina!" Her voice cracked, the frustration and fear spilling out before she could stop it. "I don’t know how much longer I can hold it together."
There was a pause before Robin hunched over, her hair falling into her face as she took ragged breaths. "I think… I might be getting addicted to the adrenaline," she whispered, barely audible.
Melina faltered, understanding immediately. Robin was considering going back to the Red Room. The General would be displeased. Melina couldn’t let Robin fall into that again.
"Robin… No," Melina whispered, stepping forward. "We can fix this. We—"
"I can’t fix this on my own, Melina!" Robin cried, her voice breaking. "I don’t know how to stop! I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not. I’m losing myself. I don’t even know who I am anymore."
"You’re not going back there," Melina snapped, her chest tight with fear. "You’re not going back to them. I won’t let you destroy yourself like that again. That’s what caused all this in the first place!"
Robin’s eyes darkened with something Melina couldn’t read. "You don’t get to decide what I do," Robin hissed, her voice laced with venom.
Melina’s throat tightened. She couldn’t control the shaking in her hands, the frustration, the fear. She didn’t want Robin to get aggressive.
"You’re right," Melina said through clenched teeth. "I don’t get to decide. But you can’t do this alone. I can’t stand by and watch you kill yourself just so you can pretend to be okay."
The words left her lips before she could stop them, and the regret hit her immediately. She hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but the fear was overwhelming.
Robin’s gaze faltered, and for a moment, Melina saw something like recognition in her eyes. But it quickly hardened into coldness again. Robin clenched her fists, her jaw tight.
"I didn’t ask for your help," Robin spat, her voice dangerous. "I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask to be broken."
Melina stepped forward, her voice trembling but firm. "No. I won’t let you destroy yourself like this. I can’t watch you throw everything away."
Robin’s face twisted in fury, frustration boiling over, her self-control slipping. Melina had never seen Robin so raw, so desperate. And it terrified her. She didn’t know what to do with it. Part of her brain that had always depended on her survival told her to take a step away before things went too far.
"Please," Melina whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. "Don’t go back to them."
Robin’s gaze flickered with something Melina couldn’t quite read—defiance? Resignation? Melina couldn’t tell, but the weight of the silence pressed in on both of them like an unbearable burden. Robin was visibly struggling, her hands trembling at her sides, her jaw clenched tight as though the words she needed to say were lodged somewhere deep inside her, unable to surface.
Robin’s expression shifted, unreadable. The silence stretched between them. Robin trembled, her jaw clenched.
"You think I haven’t tried everything else?" Robin’s voice was quieter, biting. "I’ve tried, Melina. Nothing works. I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not. There’s no fixing this without them."
Melina’s voice softened, heavy with understanding. "I know. But going back to them is not the answer. They broke you, Robin. You can’t let them fix you. Not when you know what they’ll do to you."
Robin’s frustration flared again. "Then what do I do?" she demanded, stepping closer. "If I can’t go back, if I can’t fix this on my own, then what? How do I stop?"
Melina took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm. "We find another way," she said, voice steady. "We have to. But you don’t have to carry this by yourself. You don’t have to do it alone."
Robin looked exhausted, drained. "I’m tired, Melina. I just want to sleep without being scared of what will happen when I wake up. It’ll just be a quick trip back."
“I don’t want you to go back.” It sounded so foolishly childish to Melina’s ears. It was something more akin to what Natasha might say.
Robin’s shoulders slumped and she finally looked at Melina with the soft gaze that belonged to her wife. “I know.” Robin reached a hand out as if unsure if Melina would want to approach, as if worried that she had scared her away with her venom and shouts.
Melina didn’t hesitate to take the hand, letting Robin draw her close. Robin’s trembling arms held and nestled them together.
She knew that no matter what she said, Robin was still the one in charge. Robin didn’t need her permission. And deep down, Melina also knew that the Red Room was their only chance at the moment. The General would recognize that he was putting the mission in jeopardy and fix it. She just didn’t know how much more Robin would have to go through before he decided she deserved to be fixed in the first place.
“I love you,” Robin mumbled. “And I’m sorry.”
“I know.” Melina hated the stranger the woman she loved was becoming. But she still loved them, Robin or not. “I love you too.”