Fic: Barely Coping (4/10)
Fandom: HIMYM (Samverse)
Pairing: Barney/Robin
Word Count: This part: 2436
Spoilers: for idioticonion's "My Way" and "Valentine". But nothing in canon (set in 2030).
Summary: Barney's nephew Sam learns to deal with the loss of a loved one. This part: we see how the MacLaren's gang is doing.
Thanks to: Everyone who's ever encouraged me to write this, especially idioticonion and roland44.
AN: It's traditional to give presents when someone has a birthday. And it's my birthday today (not a teenager any more!! w00t w00t!!), so this is my present to all y'all. I know it's been a long time coming... blame Marshall for being ridiculous and my muse for being fickle and schizo. I'm not really sure how well this part came out... If this sucks, please don't be afraid to say something. =)
Previously: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3
As the five of them had gotten older and moved farther away from Manhattan, they’d all gradually stopped coming to MacLaren’s with such predictable regularity (the kind Barney had so loved to disrupt, Marshall can’t help but remember). Ted had moved out of the apartment once he’d gotten married, and with Marshall and Lily moving out to Brooklyn and Robin moving into Barney’s apartment, it had no longer been so convenient to go to MacLaren’s so often. Rather than the nightly ritual that had defined their late 20s, trips to MacLaren’s had become more of a monthly pilgrimage for the five of them, a place where they’d sit in the same worn vinyl seats, have a couple of beers, and relive the youth they’d spent in the bar. It was a comforting routine, a sort of reassurance that though they were getting old and moving apart, at their core they were still the firm friends they’d been when they were young and life was a little simpler.
In the days since Barney died and Robin went who-knows-where, the three of them have come to their old bar every night just to sit in that old booth, as a way of finding some kind of comfort. Lily, Ted, and Marshall are a bit more subdued than the crowds of unfamiliar younger people that fill the bar now. MacLaren’s hasn’t changed much these past few years; it’s as busy and crowded as it’s ever been, but now the chatter is almost eerie to Marshall because it’s so normal.
Normalcy is an illusion they’re doing their best to maintain, keeping up their regular talk and jokes and drinking their usual while it’s all hollow, because they’re all missing a part of themselves, like one of their arms or legs has fallen off, and they’re pretending not to notice. They’ve all tacitly refused to discuss anything real for weeks, and Marshall’s starting to feel the strain of keeping his emotions hidden from the people he loves most.
Lily sits next to Marshall, much quieter than she normally would be. She hasn’t let go of his hand all night: she’s holding on to him tightly, almost as though she’s afraid she’ll lose him too if she lets go. But he hasn’t minded, because he’s practically crushing her hand returning the gesture. They sit together in a comfortable, supportive silence, unable to articulate what needs to be said, but it doesn’t matter because they’re so in tune with what the other is feeling.
Ted comes back to the table bearing another round and says, “Right, so where was I?”
“You were telling us about that new dorm you designed for NYU,” Lily prompts him. She sounds so much calmer than Marshall feels; he can’t understand it. He takes a deep breath, slowly exhaling in the hopes that that will somehow purge the frustration welling up inside him. Ted’s the one who’s stalling their healing process, with his insistence on talking about all those little things their group used to laugh over - the things that no longer matter now that death’s taken one of them.
Ted laughs loudly and boisterously, almost like a cackle, which is how Marshall knows he sounds whenever he’s trying too hard to be happy. “Oh yeah! So the construction company ordered about 30,000 square feet of the wrong color of brick…” And Ted continues on with the dull story about his latest project, while Marshall starts to tune him out once more.
He just wants one of them to say something to acknowledge the shit they’re going through.
Denial. It’s a word they keep hearing in their grief therapy sessions, where a disinterested therapist stares at their silent trio over the top of his clipboard, and Marshall feels like he’s the only one who’s trying to get better because Lily and Ted keep their mouths shut. Over and over, their therapist repeats those five words, those “stages of mourning” that Marshall knows are lies because mourning doesn’t happen in stages; it's a constant battle between unwelcome messy emotions. Right now, he’s living in denial-anger-depression-numbness, knowing bargaining is useless and acceptance is a myth.
Because that’s a word that pretends that eventually it’ll be okay that Barney was taken from them. “Acceptance” is a euphemism for becoming desensitized to loss; this isn’t something any of them were ever going to “get over”.
He looks over at Ted, still animatedly telling his work story. He maintains eye contact with his friend, smiling politely so it seems like he’s listening to the story, but inside he’s urging him, Come on, come on. We’ve got to talk about this, because ignoring it isn’t making any of it go away.
But if Ted can hear him at all, he doesn’t let on. He continues to coolly meet Marshall’s eyes, but hasn’t changed his expression one bit, determinedly plowing on with his story as if to say, Everything’s fine, we’ve moved on.
Moving on… was such a thing even possible in a place that was so saturated with memories of Barney? Everywhere Marshall looks, he can see and hear echoes of their friend. He can sense him just out the corner of his eye, sitting at his place at the head of the table and swilling a scotch while pretending to listen to the dull story Ted’s telling. If Marshall would turn his head just an inch or so to the left, he’d be able to see him. But Marshall keeps looking straight ahead, because he knows the second he tries to get a better look Barney’ll be gone again. He gives himself a little shake and snaps back to attention just as Ted gets to the dull climax of his boring work story.
“…and now we’re probably going to have to stain them all so they match the rest of the buildings on campus,” Ted finishes as he takes a sip of his beer. Marshall keeps breathing deeply, fighting the urge to yell, to snap them out of this frightening complacency that they’ve been living in since Robin left.
Lily smiles almost indulgently at Ted while keeping her vicelike grip on Marshall’s hand. “What, all the buildings have to match?” she says, because obviously it’s what Ted expects her to say. Her smile’s pasted on like it has been for weeks. She, too, is doing her best to appear fine, and she’s probably got Ted fooled. But Marshall knows better, because he can feel her pain even when she’s across the room. She’s been doing the exact same thing at home, trying to be strong for him the way he does his best to protect her from her own despair, but even then neither of them mentions Barney’s name. Or Robin’s, for that matter.
“I guess so,” Ted says, grinning, or maybe grimacing. It’s gotten harder for Marshall to tell the difference between the two. “And I think staining the bricks would be easier than having to rebuild the whole…”
“Ted,” Marshall finally bursts, unable to keep silent another second, “shut up.”
“Marshall!” Lily hisses. He looks at her, and he can see her beg him with her eyes: Please don’t do this.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t just sit here anymore and pretend nothing’s wrong!” Marshall says. He gives Lily’s hand an extra squeeze by way of apologizing, because he knows the last thing any of them want to do is confront this thing. But it has to be done.
Ted’s jaw clenches and he swallows almost convulsively, yet when he speaks his voice is surprisingly level. “What are you talking about?”
“Ted, the way you’re acting, it’s like you think Barney’s just left for a second,” Marshall says irritably. “Have you noticed Robin’s gone, too? Do you think the two of them are just hooking up in the bathroom or something?”
Ted scoffs. “Pl…” He freezes mid-word, but recovers fairly quickly. “Marshall, they haven’t done that in forever.”
“I think they did when we came here in January,” Lily muses.
“Like I said, forever,” Ted mumbles. Marshall knows what he means; their lives are so sharply divided into Barney and post-Barney periods that anything on the other side of that wall seems like a lifetime ago. “Anyway, that doesn’t really change anything between us, has it?”
And Marshall’s horrified that Ted doesn’t think that losing their best friend is a big deal.
“Barney’s dead!”
He says the second word a bit more forcefully than he means to, a sort of verbal slap (he’d never used the fifth slap) to get Ted to finally see sense, to admit the truth of what was happening to all of them.
And for one split second, Marshall sees that he gets through. All the pain Ted’s been pushing down for these past few weeks is visible for his eyes in one heartbreaking glimpse, and Marshall sees his own inner mess in Ted, all the sorrow and anger and regrets, the sting of what-would-never-be - and then it all vanishes as Ted retreats inside himself once more.
“I know he is,” Ted says, his eyes a little brighter but his voice level and composed. “And it sucks, but I can handle it… we all can. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not fine,” Marshall insists. “None of us are! Do you think if we go long enough without talking about it that it’s all magically going to be okay?”
“Talking about it isn’t going to fix anything,” Ted says. “It’s not going to bring Barney back.”
“Well, I know that,” Marshall says impatiently, “but honestly, this is the way things are going to be from now on, Ted. I’m sick of pretending everything’s the way it used to be, because it’s never going to be like it was again: Barney’s dead, and Robin…”
At that moment, the door to MacLaren’s is flung open, and they all turn automatically like they do every time the door opens, almost expecting to see one of their lost friends come through the door… but once again, it’s no one they recognize. It’s a young businessman, who strides directly to the bar and orders a gin and tonic. Marshall’s heart sinks to somewhere around his stomach. It isn’t Barney, and he knows he was stupid to expect him to come through the door, but that young man is so much like Barney was when he was younger, even down to the cool smile he gives every bimbo checking him out, that it’s eerie. He freezes and completely loses his train of thought, distracted once again by the memories of Barney that are constantly with him.
Lily sees this and finishes his thought for him (thank god for telepathic conversations, Marshall thinks in relief). “And we don’t know where Robin is, or if she’s even all right.” Her voice wavers ever so slightly, but she doesn’t cry. Marshall’s wedding band is already cutting into his finger because of how tightly he’s holding Lily’s hand, but he gives it an extra squeeze anyway, because no matter how tough she’s being for the two of them she still needs to be reassured.
He hasn’t been angry with Robin for leaving them; none of them have been upset with her, even if they don’t fully understand why she left. Marshall knows Robin can take care of herself and trusts her not to do something stupid in Barney’s absence, but he wishes she’d come back to start to fill the void that currently seems to be swallowing their table. Because of their two missing family members, she’s the only one who can come back.
“I’m sure Robin’s fine,” Ted says, looking only half-sure of this himself.
“We don’t know that,” Lily says, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ve been calling her every day, and she hasn’t picked up her phone once…”
“This is just how she deals when things get too hard,” Ted tells her. “When we broke up, she ran off to Argentina, remember?”
“It’s not the same thing! She and Barney didn’t break up,” Marshall reminded him, unable to keep his disdain entirely out of his voice.
Ted glares at him. “I know that - and could you stop attacking everything I say?” Marshall just takes a drink of his beer, sighing. He hates what his grief has made him become; he’s a bitter old man instead of the jovial middle-aged one he was before Barney died.
They hear the bell over the door ring again, and this time Marshall doesn’t even bother looking over because he doesn’t want to be disappointed yet again. But then Lily shrieks in delight and finally releases his hand as she runs over to the door, and as he turns to see what has his wife so excited he can’t help but finally smile genuinely.
Because Robin’s standing in the doorway to MacLaren’s. She looks the same as always: a little more tired, but definitely still recognizable as the old Robin they’ve loved and missed. She’s smiling a little more weakly than usual, but her smile broadens when Lily reaches her and throws her arms around her in welcome.
“Robin!” Ted says, jumping up to hug her and grinning broadly. As he stands up, Marshall’s grinning too… just having her back makes him feel a little bit more hopeful.
“Hi, guys,” Robin says as she releases Ted and wraps her arms around Marshall, craning her neck to smile up at him. “Um… how is everything?” She sounds so awkward asking that perfunctory question, because she knows it’s a ridiculous thing to ask.
“We’ve missed you,” Lily says earnestly as she scoots over to give Robin room to sit next to her; Marshall moves around to sit next to Ted. “Where’ve you been?”
Robin’s still beaming as she chuckles softly. “I’ve been… everywhere, feels like. I must’ve gone around the world like two or three times.”
“Well, you’re back now,” Ted said, signaling the bartender to bring her a drink. He reaches for her hand across the table and gives it a quick squeeze in welcome.
Robin looks at the three of them and looks around the old bar, and Marshall can see a sort of peace come over her, one that isn’t completely free of sadness, but she’s undeniably content. It’s the kind of calm he feels when he looks at Lily or one of their kids: a feeling that he’s come home. “Yeah,” she agrees. “I’m back.”
And even though there’s still a vacuum around the head of the table, and even though it still hurts whenever he thinks of Barney, Marshall starts to feel like some day, he too can feel that same kind of peace once again.
Next part...
Pairing: Barney/Robin
Word Count: This part: 2436
Spoilers: for idioticonion's "My Way" and "Valentine". But nothing in canon (set in 2030).
Summary: Barney's nephew Sam learns to deal with the loss of a loved one. This part: we see how the MacLaren's gang is doing.
Thanks to: Everyone who's ever encouraged me to write this, especially idioticonion and roland44.
AN: It's traditional to give presents when someone has a birthday. And it's my birthday today (not a teenager any more!! w00t w00t!!), so this is my present to all y'all. I know it's been a long time coming... blame Marshall for being ridiculous and my muse for being fickle and schizo. I'm not really sure how well this part came out... If this sucks, please don't be afraid to say something. =)
Previously: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3
As the five of them had gotten older and moved farther away from Manhattan, they’d all gradually stopped coming to MacLaren’s with such predictable regularity (the kind Barney had so loved to disrupt, Marshall can’t help but remember). Ted had moved out of the apartment once he’d gotten married, and with Marshall and Lily moving out to Brooklyn and Robin moving into Barney’s apartment, it had no longer been so convenient to go to MacLaren’s so often. Rather than the nightly ritual that had defined their late 20s, trips to MacLaren’s had become more of a monthly pilgrimage for the five of them, a place where they’d sit in the same worn vinyl seats, have a couple of beers, and relive the youth they’d spent in the bar. It was a comforting routine, a sort of reassurance that though they were getting old and moving apart, at their core they were still the firm friends they’d been when they were young and life was a little simpler.
In the days since Barney died and Robin went who-knows-where, the three of them have come to their old bar every night just to sit in that old booth, as a way of finding some kind of comfort. Lily, Ted, and Marshall are a bit more subdued than the crowds of unfamiliar younger people that fill the bar now. MacLaren’s hasn’t changed much these past few years; it’s as busy and crowded as it’s ever been, but now the chatter is almost eerie to Marshall because it’s so normal.
Normalcy is an illusion they’re doing their best to maintain, keeping up their regular talk and jokes and drinking their usual while it’s all hollow, because they’re all missing a part of themselves, like one of their arms or legs has fallen off, and they’re pretending not to notice. They’ve all tacitly refused to discuss anything real for weeks, and Marshall’s starting to feel the strain of keeping his emotions hidden from the people he loves most.
Lily sits next to Marshall, much quieter than she normally would be. She hasn’t let go of his hand all night: she’s holding on to him tightly, almost as though she’s afraid she’ll lose him too if she lets go. But he hasn’t minded, because he’s practically crushing her hand returning the gesture. They sit together in a comfortable, supportive silence, unable to articulate what needs to be said, but it doesn’t matter because they’re so in tune with what the other is feeling.
Ted comes back to the table bearing another round and says, “Right, so where was I?”
“You were telling us about that new dorm you designed for NYU,” Lily prompts him. She sounds so much calmer than Marshall feels; he can’t understand it. He takes a deep breath, slowly exhaling in the hopes that that will somehow purge the frustration welling up inside him. Ted’s the one who’s stalling their healing process, with his insistence on talking about all those little things their group used to laugh over - the things that no longer matter now that death’s taken one of them.
Ted laughs loudly and boisterously, almost like a cackle, which is how Marshall knows he sounds whenever he’s trying too hard to be happy. “Oh yeah! So the construction company ordered about 30,000 square feet of the wrong color of brick…” And Ted continues on with the dull story about his latest project, while Marshall starts to tune him out once more.
He just wants one of them to say something to acknowledge the shit they’re going through.
Denial. It’s a word they keep hearing in their grief therapy sessions, where a disinterested therapist stares at their silent trio over the top of his clipboard, and Marshall feels like he’s the only one who’s trying to get better because Lily and Ted keep their mouths shut. Over and over, their therapist repeats those five words, those “stages of mourning” that Marshall knows are lies because mourning doesn’t happen in stages; it's a constant battle between unwelcome messy emotions. Right now, he’s living in denial-anger-depression-numbness, knowing bargaining is useless and acceptance is a myth.
Because that’s a word that pretends that eventually it’ll be okay that Barney was taken from them. “Acceptance” is a euphemism for becoming desensitized to loss; this isn’t something any of them were ever going to “get over”.
He looks over at Ted, still animatedly telling his work story. He maintains eye contact with his friend, smiling politely so it seems like he’s listening to the story, but inside he’s urging him, Come on, come on. We’ve got to talk about this, because ignoring it isn’t making any of it go away.
But if Ted can hear him at all, he doesn’t let on. He continues to coolly meet Marshall’s eyes, but hasn’t changed his expression one bit, determinedly plowing on with his story as if to say, Everything’s fine, we’ve moved on.
Moving on… was such a thing even possible in a place that was so saturated with memories of Barney? Everywhere Marshall looks, he can see and hear echoes of their friend. He can sense him just out the corner of his eye, sitting at his place at the head of the table and swilling a scotch while pretending to listen to the dull story Ted’s telling. If Marshall would turn his head just an inch or so to the left, he’d be able to see him. But Marshall keeps looking straight ahead, because he knows the second he tries to get a better look Barney’ll be gone again. He gives himself a little shake and snaps back to attention just as Ted gets to the dull climax of his boring work story.
“…and now we’re probably going to have to stain them all so they match the rest of the buildings on campus,” Ted finishes as he takes a sip of his beer. Marshall keeps breathing deeply, fighting the urge to yell, to snap them out of this frightening complacency that they’ve been living in since Robin left.
Lily smiles almost indulgently at Ted while keeping her vicelike grip on Marshall’s hand. “What, all the buildings have to match?” she says, because obviously it’s what Ted expects her to say. Her smile’s pasted on like it has been for weeks. She, too, is doing her best to appear fine, and she’s probably got Ted fooled. But Marshall knows better, because he can feel her pain even when she’s across the room. She’s been doing the exact same thing at home, trying to be strong for him the way he does his best to protect her from her own despair, but even then neither of them mentions Barney’s name. Or Robin’s, for that matter.
“I guess so,” Ted says, grinning, or maybe grimacing. It’s gotten harder for Marshall to tell the difference between the two. “And I think staining the bricks would be easier than having to rebuild the whole…”
“Ted,” Marshall finally bursts, unable to keep silent another second, “shut up.”
“Marshall!” Lily hisses. He looks at her, and he can see her beg him with her eyes: Please don’t do this.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t just sit here anymore and pretend nothing’s wrong!” Marshall says. He gives Lily’s hand an extra squeeze by way of apologizing, because he knows the last thing any of them want to do is confront this thing. But it has to be done.
Ted’s jaw clenches and he swallows almost convulsively, yet when he speaks his voice is surprisingly level. “What are you talking about?”
“Ted, the way you’re acting, it’s like you think Barney’s just left for a second,” Marshall says irritably. “Have you noticed Robin’s gone, too? Do you think the two of them are just hooking up in the bathroom or something?”
Ted scoffs. “Pl…” He freezes mid-word, but recovers fairly quickly. “Marshall, they haven’t done that in forever.”
“I think they did when we came here in January,” Lily muses.
“Like I said, forever,” Ted mumbles. Marshall knows what he means; their lives are so sharply divided into Barney and post-Barney periods that anything on the other side of that wall seems like a lifetime ago. “Anyway, that doesn’t really change anything between us, has it?”
And Marshall’s horrified that Ted doesn’t think that losing their best friend is a big deal.
“Barney’s dead!”
He says the second word a bit more forcefully than he means to, a sort of verbal slap (he’d never used the fifth slap) to get Ted to finally see sense, to admit the truth of what was happening to all of them.
And for one split second, Marshall sees that he gets through. All the pain Ted’s been pushing down for these past few weeks is visible for his eyes in one heartbreaking glimpse, and Marshall sees his own inner mess in Ted, all the sorrow and anger and regrets, the sting of what-would-never-be - and then it all vanishes as Ted retreats inside himself once more.
“I know he is,” Ted says, his eyes a little brighter but his voice level and composed. “And it sucks, but I can handle it… we all can. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not fine,” Marshall insists. “None of us are! Do you think if we go long enough without talking about it that it’s all magically going to be okay?”
“Talking about it isn’t going to fix anything,” Ted says. “It’s not going to bring Barney back.”
“Well, I know that,” Marshall says impatiently, “but honestly, this is the way things are going to be from now on, Ted. I’m sick of pretending everything’s the way it used to be, because it’s never going to be like it was again: Barney’s dead, and Robin…”
At that moment, the door to MacLaren’s is flung open, and they all turn automatically like they do every time the door opens, almost expecting to see one of their lost friends come through the door… but once again, it’s no one they recognize. It’s a young businessman, who strides directly to the bar and orders a gin and tonic. Marshall’s heart sinks to somewhere around his stomach. It isn’t Barney, and he knows he was stupid to expect him to come through the door, but that young man is so much like Barney was when he was younger, even down to the cool smile he gives every bimbo checking him out, that it’s eerie. He freezes and completely loses his train of thought, distracted once again by the memories of Barney that are constantly with him.
Lily sees this and finishes his thought for him (thank god for telepathic conversations, Marshall thinks in relief). “And we don’t know where Robin is, or if she’s even all right.” Her voice wavers ever so slightly, but she doesn’t cry. Marshall’s wedding band is already cutting into his finger because of how tightly he’s holding Lily’s hand, but he gives it an extra squeeze anyway, because no matter how tough she’s being for the two of them she still needs to be reassured.
He hasn’t been angry with Robin for leaving them; none of them have been upset with her, even if they don’t fully understand why she left. Marshall knows Robin can take care of herself and trusts her not to do something stupid in Barney’s absence, but he wishes she’d come back to start to fill the void that currently seems to be swallowing their table. Because of their two missing family members, she’s the only one who can come back.
“I’m sure Robin’s fine,” Ted says, looking only half-sure of this himself.
“We don’t know that,” Lily says, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ve been calling her every day, and she hasn’t picked up her phone once…”
“This is just how she deals when things get too hard,” Ted tells her. “When we broke up, she ran off to Argentina, remember?”
“It’s not the same thing! She and Barney didn’t break up,” Marshall reminded him, unable to keep his disdain entirely out of his voice.
Ted glares at him. “I know that - and could you stop attacking everything I say?” Marshall just takes a drink of his beer, sighing. He hates what his grief has made him become; he’s a bitter old man instead of the jovial middle-aged one he was before Barney died.
They hear the bell over the door ring again, and this time Marshall doesn’t even bother looking over because he doesn’t want to be disappointed yet again. But then Lily shrieks in delight and finally releases his hand as she runs over to the door, and as he turns to see what has his wife so excited he can’t help but finally smile genuinely.
Because Robin’s standing in the doorway to MacLaren’s. She looks the same as always: a little more tired, but definitely still recognizable as the old Robin they’ve loved and missed. She’s smiling a little more weakly than usual, but her smile broadens when Lily reaches her and throws her arms around her in welcome.
“Robin!” Ted says, jumping up to hug her and grinning broadly. As he stands up, Marshall’s grinning too… just having her back makes him feel a little bit more hopeful.
“Hi, guys,” Robin says as she releases Ted and wraps her arms around Marshall, craning her neck to smile up at him. “Um… how is everything?” She sounds so awkward asking that perfunctory question, because she knows it’s a ridiculous thing to ask.
“We’ve missed you,” Lily says earnestly as she scoots over to give Robin room to sit next to her; Marshall moves around to sit next to Ted. “Where’ve you been?”
Robin’s still beaming as she chuckles softly. “I’ve been… everywhere, feels like. I must’ve gone around the world like two or three times.”
“Well, you’re back now,” Ted said, signaling the bartender to bring her a drink. He reaches for her hand across the table and gives it a quick squeeze in welcome.
Robin looks at the three of them and looks around the old bar, and Marshall can see a sort of peace come over her, one that isn’t completely free of sadness, but she’s undeniably content. It’s the kind of calm he feels when he looks at Lily or one of their kids: a feeling that he’s come home. “Yeah,” she agrees. “I’m back.”
And even though there’s still a vacuum around the head of the table, and even though it still hurts whenever he thinks of Barney, Marshall starts to feel like some day, he too can feel that same kind of peace once again.
Next part...