Title: Ways to make him talk
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Het
Pairing: Don/Robin
Spoilers: Up to and including 5.15 Guilt Trip
Warnings: None
Word count: 1460
Disclaimer: Own nothing, not being paid.

A/N: Thank you to krazykitkat and pixie_on_acid for the beta. Inspired by a conversation between Alan and Robin in 5.15 Guilt Trip. It feels like forever since I've written a fic!

Summary: Robin tries out a new interrogation technique on Don.

Robin paused in the process of putting her bag down, having spotted Don. She sighed inwardly and finished the movement, before slipping out of her heels and walking towards Don on stocking feet. He was sitting in front of the TV, but it wasn't on, with a bottle of beer in his hands that he was no longer drinking, just picking at the label instead.

"Hey," she said, as she wrapped her arms around him from behind, hands coming to a rest on his chest.

"Hey," he replied, turning his head so that they could kiss.

She could taste a hint of beer and he hadn't shaved at all, his stubble scratching her skin. Hadn't really bothered to do anything with his hair either, and the t-shirt was one that she thought he'd thrown out six months ago, it already being at least a year past its best-before date. Some of the holes were starting to get big enough to drive a truck through. He'd paired it up with grey tracksuit pants and bare feet. With her in a business skirt and blouse and her hair up and make up on, they would have looked an odd couple if anybody saw them.

"Everything okay?" Robin asked, pulling back slightly, but keeping her hands on his chest. He hadn't gone into the office and had seemed in a mood the previous night. "Bad case?"

She felt him tense under her hands as he avoided her eyes.

"Everything's fine," he said shortly, going back to tearing the label off his beer bottle. He'd already managed to get a trailing edge of half an inch, but instead of grabbing it and pulling, he was using the tips of his fingers to push it up from where it joined onto the bottle.

"Have you eaten yet?" Robin asked, trying not to get frustrated with his rejection of giving her anything approaching the truth of his broodiness. Most of the time she just dealt with it and waited for him to either move on or finally let her in—it was part and parcel of dating Don Eppes—but sometimes she just wanted to tie him to a chair and force him to tell her what was bothering him. She wanted to be able to help, to support him through it, but he made it damn hard to sometimes.

Don shook his head and she let go, going to their bedroom to change into something both more casual and comfortable. She put on jeans and a fitted pale-blue t-shirt, left her feet bare, and took the barrette out of her hair. She quickly brushed her hair and then headed to the kitchen, thinking that if there was a time for a glass of wine, it was now. At the fridge she paused, a conversation she'd had with Alan suddenly coming to the forefront of her memory. It was worth a shot, she decided.

They were in luck—there were two tubs of ice cream in the freezer, one strawberry and the other cookies and cream. Rattling through the drawers she managed to find the scoop, triumphantly holding it aloft and then, after running the water into the sink for a few minutes, under the hot water. She plopped a generous amount of ice cream into two bowls—she hadn't had the most fantastic day either—and inspiration struck. Searching through the cupboards she found the half-eaten packet of mini marshmallows and, after checking the expiry date, she added a handful to each bowl. They looked like pink and white pieces of styrofoam, but they still tasted good.

Placing a spoon in each bowl, she joined Don again, lowering his bowl in front of his face from behind. It took a few seconds for him to grasp it in both hands, allowing her to sit beside him.

At Don's look of bemusement, Robin shrugged, taking a bite of strawberry ice cream. They slowly ate in silence—Alan hadn't said whether he started questioning or whether the ice cream just shook loose his sons' tongues. Don all of a sudden pressed his left hand to just below his neck, cringing and eyes closed. She giggled, glad it wasn't her that had frozen her insides. When Don opened his eyes again, hand coming back down to relax in his lap, he smiled slightly at her. The ice cream was doing its trick, he was starting to relax.

"Not funny," Don said quietly, with a mock pout.

"I disagree."

Don's pout intensified.

"You'd laugh at me," Robin pointed out.

He shrugged, growing serious, and started eating again. Now or never, she decided.

"What's bothering you, Don? Don't deny it, something is." He remained quiet, half-heartily mushing his ice cream with his spoon. "Please."

There was another shrug of shoulders, as he continued looking down at the bowl. "It's...It's not just one thing." There was a long pause. "This case..." He shook his head. "We're never going to have enough evidence to nail the son of a bitch. And there's a part of me tha-that thinks—"

The look on his face was tortured. He didn't put it into words, but he didn't have to.

"Don, you would never do that. You wouldn't."

He twirled his spoon around in the slushy ice cream, blending pink with white and brown. "I've crossed lines, Robin."

"Not that one. Never that one."

She let the silence lengthen, waiting for him to say what was on his mind.

"And then there's Charlie. I agree with him."

Robin couldn't repress a slightly hysterical laugh, the sour expression on Don's face at the idea that he agreed with Charlie about something too funny. They were alike in so many ways, yet so different. The sour look dissolved into a slight smile as he caught her eyes.

"You should have seen your face," Robin said, still amused. She sobered. "What do you agree with him about?"

"There was this agent, with this last case, and he was treating Charlie like crap. Turns out his problem was the information that Charlie sent to Pakistan."

Robin shook her head. "Charlie gained back his clearance and the charges were dropped."

"I know, so does he, but he doesn't care. He thinks that Charlie should be locked up somewhere, not working for us. That Charlie is dangerous." Don gave a sharp shake of his head, his eyebrows raised. Charlie and dangerous didn't go together in the same sentence. "A-and I realised, when I was yelling at him, that I think...Charlie did the right thing."

With a wry smirk, Robin asked, "Shook your world?"

"Yeah." Don nodded. "I mean, I don't blindly think that everything the Government, the system, does is right, I'm not that naive, but...he knowingly broke the law and I think he did the right thing. What...what kind of agent does that make me?" The last was said quietly.

"One who can think for himself," Robin said seriously. "You did what the law said needed to be done at the time, but you're allowed to disagree with it. And it's taken you a long time to disagree with it in this case. I think Charlie did the right thing, too."

Don looked up at her, trying to reassure himself with her conviction.

"The research that Charlie sent could save lives and there was no way that it could be used for terrorism," Robin reminded him.

"Yeah," Don murmured, rubbing his thumb across his lower lip. "I just feel..." He frowned, before adding softly, "Adrift."

Robin reached out for his hand, taking it in her own. "You'll find your anchor again."

"Yeah," Don said.

Robin decided to lighten the mood. "So did you kick that agent's butt?"

Don's lips creased into a slight smile. "I tore him a new one. And I think David, Colby and Liz had words with him too."

"Good."

There was a comfortable silence for a moment.

"So exactly when did my dad tell you?" Don asked casually.

Busted.

"About what?" Robin replied, nonchalant.

"You know what."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Don moved the bowls off both their laps on to the floor and turned to face her. "Really?"

Robin didn't think she'd seen a bigger look of disbelief on his face.

"So you just decided to have ice cream for no reason," Don said.

"I haven't had the best day. The ice cream was calling my name."

Don had started to lean in, but he pulled back at her words. She put one hand around the back of his neck and pulled him towards her. "Later," she whispered against his mouth.

There'd be time to talk about her problems later, if she hadn't forgotten all about them by then.

-FIN-