fic: play it, sam (but i forget how it goes); barney/robin, all ratings
title: play it, sam (but i forget how it goes)
author: hyacinthian
rating: all
summary: A Barney/Robin drabble for each episode of the series.
author's note: 8x01.
got rid of your number that i know by heart
This is the story of the box:
Boxes are for the in-between, for moving, for storage, for things you're unsure of keeping or throwing away, for things you don't know if you've outgrown yet, for things you're too scared to lose, for things you're too scared to throw out in case you need them in the distant future or not-distant future, in case it turns out to be the thing that will save your life.
Boxes keep what you can't keep. It's one box. Robin Scherbatsky manages to fit inside a single box, and that kind of seems like a lie in itself.
The box: almost every photo of the two of them that he has, several silk ties she'd gotten him, other insignificant items, a near-empty bottle of scotch, a near-empty thing of cigars, a hockey jersey. Somehow these things spell Robin. But they don't really. That's the truth of it: nothing could contain what they were, or what they were pretending to be, or what they are now. They're friends, sure. There's pictures of them at a hockey game. And there's the remnant of a shirt that she ruined during one of their more enthusiastic tearing-off-each-other's-clothes fucks that he somehow never remembered keeping, but doesn't want to throw out.
This is how Loretta collects a house full of memories she can't stand to look at in Staten Island.
This is how you start collecting your own demons. You can't run away from boxes, after all. Not when they belong to you. And this?
Well, even if it doesn't belong to him, who else is going to claim it? It isn't as if he can leave Robin alone in a storage locker. Doesn't seem right.
Over a beer, she asks him the most direct way she knows how: by not asking. She runs her thumb along the edge of the tumbler and slides the keys toward him.
"Why did you even give me these?"
He shrugs, his smile tucked low in the corner of his mouth. It's the kind of smile she never remembers seeing, but the kind she knows she's seen a thousand times at least. The kind of smile that isn't really a smile at all.
"Thought you should know."
"Well," she says, swirling the scotch in her glass, the ice clinking, "Thanks."
"I couldn't - I would never erase you, you know."
"Sure."
It's really just a question of space.
author: hyacinthian
rating: all
summary: A Barney/Robin drabble for each episode of the series.
author's note: 8x01.
got rid of your number that i know by heart
This is the story of the box:
Boxes are for the in-between, for moving, for storage, for things you're unsure of keeping or throwing away, for things you don't know if you've outgrown yet, for things you're too scared to lose, for things you're too scared to throw out in case you need them in the distant future or not-distant future, in case it turns out to be the thing that will save your life.
Boxes keep what you can't keep. It's one box. Robin Scherbatsky manages to fit inside a single box, and that kind of seems like a lie in itself.
The box: almost every photo of the two of them that he has, several silk ties she'd gotten him, other insignificant items, a near-empty bottle of scotch, a near-empty thing of cigars, a hockey jersey. Somehow these things spell Robin. But they don't really. That's the truth of it: nothing could contain what they were, or what they were pretending to be, or what they are now. They're friends, sure. There's pictures of them at a hockey game. And there's the remnant of a shirt that she ruined during one of their more enthusiastic tearing-off-each-other's-clothes fucks that he somehow never remembered keeping, but doesn't want to throw out.
This is how Loretta collects a house full of memories she can't stand to look at in Staten Island.
This is how you start collecting your own demons. You can't run away from boxes, after all. Not when they belong to you. And this?
Well, even if it doesn't belong to him, who else is going to claim it? It isn't as if he can leave Robin alone in a storage locker. Doesn't seem right.
Over a beer, she asks him the most direct way she knows how: by not asking. She runs her thumb along the edge of the tumbler and slides the keys toward him.
"Why did you even give me these?"
He shrugs, his smile tucked low in the corner of his mouth. It's the kind of smile she never remembers seeing, but the kind she knows she's seen a thousand times at least. The kind of smile that isn't really a smile at all.
"Thought you should know."
"Well," she says, swirling the scotch in her glass, the ice clinking, "Thanks."
"I couldn't - I would never erase you, you know."
"Sure."
It's really just a question of space.