nobody said it was easy (but) no one ever said it would be this hard
Title: nobody said it was easy (but) no one ever said it would be this hard
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst / Romance
Disclaimer: I do not own HIMYM or any of its characters.
Summary: Robin has a lot to think about after the intervention. Alcohol helps her think.
Robin spins the empty shot glass and watches as it whirls on the polished wood of the table. She contemplates ordering another round of drinks for herself and decides to wait a while. She knows she's already downed a few too many shots too quickly, if the rapid beat of her heart at the base of her throat and the blurring at the edges of her vision are any indication. But she knows too that she needs a few more shots if she's to eradicate the memories of that farce of an intervention at Marshall and Lily's apartment from her mind.
She leans her flushed cheek against the cool wood of the table and thinks back to that intervention, staged for Barney but intended for her. She thinks back to how she sauntered into the apartment with such confidence, only to be ambushed by friends she genuinely believed shared her approbations about Barney's increasingly erratic and uncharacteristic behavior. She thinks back to how the three of them repeated, We love you and we're worried about you, the words parroting her own but meant for her, and she knows the flush in her cheeks is now from embarassment as well as alcohol.
Robin. What you and Barney shared . . . it was special. You two were in love and it was beautiful and we all wish that it could have turned into forever. But it didn't and it's over now. You and Barney both decided to end it, so now you and Barney both need to accept that and move on.
Unspoken between them all was the fact that Robin was the first to decide against forever. Just like when she and Barney decided to break up with Kevin and Nora, it was she who backed out of the agreement because she was scared and selfish. When she and Barney kissed after she bought him a lap dance at Month Beach, she was the one who pushed him away and said We can't do this because she was scared and selfish.
Scared and selfish, she thinks to herself, watching the light reflect and refract from the spinning glass. Scared to admit how she feels about Barney to Barney, because that means laying herself bare in a way that makes something clench deepy in her belly; scared to let herself fall, because somehow she can't bring herself to trust that he'll catch her; scared to be with him, because this relationship between her and Barney, this is it for her, and if she somehow manages to ruin it irrevocably like she has so many others, then there's no hope for her.
But she's selfish too. She's selfish because she can't bear to give him up to others who will love him even though she knows she's too scared to love him herself; she's selfish because she will kiss him back, will twine her arms around his neck and press the line of her body against his and kiss him with enough passion to set both their worlds ablaze, will do so even knowing that she is giving him a false hope that will break his heart; she's selfish because she knows to see past Barney's cool charisma to the vulnerability within. She knows that he will open himself up to be hurt again and again by someone he loves, and she uses this knowledge shamelessly, knows that she can hurt him and be forgiven. Because he loves her.
You have to stop this fixation with Barney, Robin, because it's not doing either of you any good. You have to move on. Barney already has.
"Barney already has," she says bitterly to herself. The words reverberate in her mind. Classic Moseby - blunt, brutally frank, and devastatingly honest. Barney has moved on.
He's moved on to Patrice.
Robin is honest enough - after an impressive succession of drinks - to admit to herself that she's a complete bitch to Patrice. Robin lashes out at the other girl for the most trivial reasons, makes snide comments about her whenever the opportunity arises, is incapable of making it through a simple conversation without screaming like a banshee. Patrice sets Robin's teeth on edge, makes her skin scrawl, irritates her to a fury, and does it all with that damn smile on her face like she has no idea what she's doing. To be fair, she probably doesn't.
None of her friends understand why she hates Patrice.
"Robin." Marshall looked at her wearily. "That's enough."
"I'm right," she protested as she tightened her grip on the empty glass of scotch. "Barney does have a problem. The fact that he's - that he's doing dates with Patrice is as clear a cry for help as I have ever seen."
"Robin, we have been over this," Lily reminded her patiently. "Patrice is an over-correction for Quinn. She's warm and open and nurturing and that's what Barney needs right now."
"And even if she is an over-correction," Ted added as he knelt before Robin to take her hands in his, "that's not necessarily a bad thing. Barney's had a pretty awful time of it lately, and Patrice makes him happy."
Robin buries her head in her hands. "Patrice is not an over-correction for Quinn," she mumbles.
And it's the truth. Patrice is not an over-correction for Quinn.
She's an over-correction for Robin.
Robin has known - and denied to herself - from the start the root of her hatred for Patrice. Patrice, with her warm-hearted tenderness and effusive affection and a smile as sweet as her heart-shaped cookies, is the complete opposite of Robin herself, with her acerbic humor and caustic cynicism and sharp tongue. Patrice is soft and sweet and warm while Robin is sharp and hard and cold. Robin used to hate Patrice simply for being her opposite, for magnifying all the qualities that people think Robin lacks, for being willing to bend over backwards to accomodate others - the last a weakness that Robin has never been able to tolerate.
Now she hates Patrice for being her opposite, for being valued and cherished by Barney for the very qualities that set her opposite to Robin. She hates Patrice for coaxing Barney into playing cards with him (while wearing clothes); hates Patrice for bringing that softness to those blue eyes and the edges of that wide mouth; hates Patrice for coaxing Barney into a relationship based entirely on emotional intimacy; hates Patrice for showing Barney that he can love someone who's utterly unlike Robin. She hates Patrice because when she watches the two of them together, watches them talk sweetly and softly, she's scared that perhaps Barney has found his Lily.
Patrice is an over-correction for Robin. Robin, who is as cold as the winter on a Canadian prairie and as sharp as the blade of her hockey skate. Robin, who adores watching sports and cheers when a hockey match devolves into a fight. Robin, who can shoot a gun and drink beer from the can and smoke a cigar and play with the boys and match the boys shot for shot and roughhouse with the boys and play wingwoman for the boys.
Robin, the bro.
"You're one of my closest and dearest friends, Robin," he told her with uncharacteristic solemnity. "And . . . maybe you were right, about us not working out, because I would never want to lose our friendship due to a failed relationship. I love you too much to ever lose you, Scherbatsky."
Neither of them questioned that a relationship would, inevitably, fail.
She feels a hand rest itself on her shoulder and slowly lifts her head, blinking until her gaze clears enough for her to make out Ted's worried face before her. He motions for her to slide down the seat and make room for him, and she does. He sits down and wraps an arm around her waist; she leans her head against his shoulder and lets him rub her back comfortingly.
"Robin," he says gently.
"He burned the Playbook for her," she whispers.
"I know."
"He's changed."
"People change for the better. You've changed. So have I, thank God."
"But he shouldn't have to," she insists. "That's what you and Lily and Marshall are always on about, you know, all that crap about not having to change yourself for love and deserving to find someone who will accept and love you for who you are. Patrice wants to change Barney and that's wrong."
Ted's laugh is a soft breath against her hair. "And you always placed such faith in 'all that crap'," he teases. "And . . . well, yes, I do believe that, ideally, we should find someone willing to love us as we are. But the reality is that sometimes we have to change before we are ready to accept love, before we can build a stable and happy relationship using that love as a foundation, before we can love and be loved and be happy."
"Barney's been in love before," she argues. "And he's been happy too. With Nora, with Quinn." With me.
"And none of those relationships lasted," Ted points out reasonably. "Because that Barney, the one who was reckless and irresponsible and game for any wild challenge, the one who went home with any pretty girl who would have him, the one who chafed against the bounds of a relationship and was always caught up in games and lies and deceits - yeah, we loved that Barney because he was our friend, but he wasn't ready for a long-lasting relationship. This Barney, the one who will tell the truth in a sticky situation and admit that he's not legendary all the time, the one who will burn the Playbook and acknowledge that he makes mistakes, maybe this Barney is ready."
Ted pauses for a moment and squeezes Robin's hand. "He's changed, yes, but he's still Barney. Sometimes we have to mature before we can truly accept the love that we are given. I-I think Barney is growing up."
Robin shifts away from his touch and looks him square in the eye. "You think I need to grow up."
"I-I think we all have some soul-searching and growing up to do," he admits. "What Barney said to you and Lily, about not knowing what he wants, it made me think. And I realized that I don't know what I want either, and that's why none of my relationships ever work out. I don't think you know what you want either, Robin, and that's why you want Barney and push him away at the same time. But," he continues firmly, "what we all want for sure is happiness. And Barney is happy with Patrice, Robin, so you're going to have to accept that, at least for now."
Robin ducks her head and fixes her eyes on the table before her. Because maybe Ted is right, maybe she does have no idea what she really wants, maybe she has been stumbling through life uncertain of what it is she's looking for. Maybe she doesn't hate the fact that Barney is changing and maturing and growing up so much as the fact that it makes her realize that she needs to do the same, and she doesn't think she's ready for it (and maybe she hates the fact that he's changing and maturing and growing up because - for - someone that's not Robin). Maybe Ted is right, and the Barney who is becoming more mature and more responsible is ready for a real relationship, one that can last forever, and she's terrified that it won't be with her.
She's scared and confused and angry because there is so much that she's unsure of, but amidst all the uncertainty, Barney is her constant. She wants him (probably loves him), has for a very long time and probably always will, but she doesn't know what she wants to do with that desire (that love), doesn't know whether she wants to hook up with him, or remain just friends, or pursue something deeper and more meaningful. She doesn't know what she wants, and she's terrified that, while she's trying to figure all this out, he'll find someone else and be lost to her forever.
And she knows she's being selfish, but the truth is, Robin really does want Barney to be happy.
She wants Barney to be happy with her.