FIC: Fired (3/4) HIMYM AU
It's funny how your brain suddenly doesn't know the way from A to B. How, in the moment after you hear that your friend's been shot, your mind decides to do a dump of unconnected thoughts, right into your frontal lobe.
But there are things that stand out; Memories and fragments, snatches of conversation.
~ "I wasn't quick enough," Barney says, off-hand, like he gets strangled every day. Like it's a game.
~ At the hospital, his body is encased in white casts, shattered by the impact of a bus that almost ground him into the asphalt.
~ Barney's dead, he must be. Shot, like, with a real gun. Robin knows about guns, he should ask Robin.
Marshall swallows, in slow motion, and the thoughts stream past like a waterfall, too fast to catch hold of. The secret he's held silent, that he's suspected, for a long time, it hits his skull with sledge-hammer force. Barney's job is too dangerous, in the sense of real, physical-dangerous. This it's not just bluster from a man who spends all his time thinking up new identities as a ruse to hit on women.
~ No one normal is that good with makeup and wigs. The old man makeup alone was incredible.
Marshall suspects that Barney's whole life is one slippery lie after another. His whole life, maybe, except for the connection he's made to four random people in Manhattan, four random people he loves and who love him right back. If there were any guns here right now, any bullets, Marshall suspects that Barney would walk in front of them to protect his friends.
But to do that for Goliath National Bank? Why would anybody do that? Why would you risk your life for savings and loans?
This is what Marshall's been holding in, been unable to say.
~ "Things I know about this company, I'll never be fired," Barney says, off-handed-ly. "I mean there's a pretty good chance one day I'll wash up on shore with no fingerprints or teeth."
Looking back on it now, it's chilling. How often Barney joked about his job, how often they all ignored it. Then-
"He's alive," Richardson says.
The air whooshes out of Marshall's lungs.
*--*--*
Marshall gets this horrible pain in his ear and it takes him a few seconds to realise that it's because he's had his cell phone pinned tight in one position for the best part of two hours.
A barrage of questions had only mystified Richardson, who shrugged and simply checked his phone for updates. Every other attempt at getting information about Barney is met with a stone wall of nothing. Managers seem to be ensconced in meetings or unavailable, and nobody knows anything more than Marshall has already been told.
Barney has been shot. Barney is alive.
Most of the staff at GNB simply look at Marshall as though he should know everything already, if he's really Mr Stinson's close friend. The frustrating thing is that this isn't some conspiracy of silence; more like, it's just standard bureaucratic incompetence. Really, no one knows anything.
When Ted gets there, Marshall is aflame with impotent anger. Without Barney, he soon realises he has virtually no power or influence at the Bank. Nobody listens to him and nobody cares. In one, horribly selfish moment, there's a lurch in Marshall's stomach when he contemplates what this place would be like for him without Barney's protection. And if Barney dies, things will be a lot harder for him, maybe. For a few hours this possibility dogs Marshall, and makes him hate himself a little bit.
"I'm no good at this," he rages at Ted. "The corporate stuff was always- is always Barney's thing." He's on the edge of blubbing.
"No!" Ted reaches out a hand. "No, Marshall. You're a crusader! You never let the bad guy win. That's all you, man!"
Marshall smiles and nods, and they slowly share out the task of calling up all the hospitals in Manhattan. They tell Lily to stay at school under strict instruction to let her know the moment they find their friend. They leave Robin to sleep. Her schedule's got her so stressed that neither of them can cope with the thought of her storming down here right now, guns a-blazing.
Maybe even literally guns a-blazing. As if that would help right now.
Neither of Marshall nor Ted voices the fear that right now their friend could be anywhere, even in a foreign country.
Right now, their friend could be dying.
*--*--*
Marshall gets the call at 6:16 p.m. First he notices that there's a missed call that must have come in while he was on the line with the latest hospital. He's just checking it when his phone goes off in his hand.
Let's go to the mall chirps out it's tinny tune.
"Barney!" Marshall gulps.
"Hey, Bro!" The familiar voice makes him go hot and cold at the same time. "You'll never guess what happened to me today? Go on, guess!"
"What?" Marshall responds automatically, despite everything.
Ted mimes putting the caller on speakerphone and Marshall complies.
"I got shot!" Barney's voice rings out, clear and true.
Their voices overlap - "Bro, are you okay?", "Dude! Where are you?"
He tells them.
*--*--*
"We tried to find you all day. You'd think it would be simple, finding a guy admitted to hospital with a gunshot wound in New York City."
Barney nods and laughs and nods and laughs. Marshall waves at his friend to lean on him but Barney shrugs it off, trying awkwardly to climb out of the wheelchair, one handed.
His left arm is in a sling. There's a large bandage across his upper arm and shoulder, visible under the t-shirt Ted's leant him.
The devil's in the detail, Marshall thinks. The spatter of blood stains, dark scarlet against the light grey material of Barney's suit paints.
"So what happened?" Ted asks, while Marshall surreptitiously tries to stop Barney from falling over before the cab pulls up by the curb outside the hospital. "I mean, should you even be released? Don't they want to keep you in, for observation?"
Neither Ted nor Marshall know what "for observation" means. It's just the sort of thing people tend to say in medical dramas on TV.
"Bros," Barney says, waving his arms around and almost toppling head-first into the cab. "Broskis! They shot me up with some rad drugs, and left me staring into space all on my lonesome. There's no way in Hades I was staying in that place. It's too-" He shakes his head, brows drawing together in a tight frown.
Marshall and Ted flank Barney, one on each side, as they slide into the back seat of the yellow cab.
"What happened?" Ted repeats.
"Drive by shooting, brah!" Barney slurs. "Winged me, the jerk." When he sees Ted and Marshall's expressions he laughs. "Don't worry, it's just a flesh wound, went right through. Couple 'o stitches and I was fine." He giggles a bit and Ted shoots Marshall a pointed look as their friend leans forward to bang the flat of his hand against the partition. "Driver!" He yells imperiously. "Take us to MacLaren's Pub! I need beer!"
"Dude, I really don't think you should be drinking when you're all hopped up on meds," Marshall protests.
"Beer!" Barney insists.
Marshall lets it go for now and the cab speeds through the late evening traffic. But there's a large part of Marshall's brain that doesn't believe a word of Barney's explanation. There's a part of him that's expecting gun fire any moment, expecting an explosion of glass as a sniper's bullet rips through the window to finish off their friend. And there's a deep pain that runs from his belly and up into his chest, burning with peptic acid and fear, that tells him he needs to find out what in the hell is going on. And fast.
This feels like a final warning, but Marshall has no idea from where. Or from whom.
Part Four
But there are things that stand out; Memories and fragments, snatches of conversation.
~ "I wasn't quick enough," Barney says, off-hand, like he gets strangled every day. Like it's a game.
~ At the hospital, his body is encased in white casts, shattered by the impact of a bus that almost ground him into the asphalt.
~ Barney's dead, he must be. Shot, like, with a real gun. Robin knows about guns, he should ask Robin.
Marshall swallows, in slow motion, and the thoughts stream past like a waterfall, too fast to catch hold of. The secret he's held silent, that he's suspected, for a long time, it hits his skull with sledge-hammer force. Barney's job is too dangerous, in the sense of real, physical-dangerous. This it's not just bluster from a man who spends all his time thinking up new identities as a ruse to hit on women.
~ No one normal is that good with makeup and wigs. The old man makeup alone was incredible.
Marshall suspects that Barney's whole life is one slippery lie after another. His whole life, maybe, except for the connection he's made to four random people in Manhattan, four random people he loves and who love him right back. If there were any guns here right now, any bullets, Marshall suspects that Barney would walk in front of them to protect his friends.
But to do that for Goliath National Bank? Why would anybody do that? Why would you risk your life for savings and loans?
This is what Marshall's been holding in, been unable to say.
~ "Things I know about this company, I'll never be fired," Barney says, off-handed-ly. "I mean there's a pretty good chance one day I'll wash up on shore with no fingerprints or teeth."
Looking back on it now, it's chilling. How often Barney joked about his job, how often they all ignored it. Then-
"He's alive," Richardson says.
The air whooshes out of Marshall's lungs.
*--*--*
Marshall gets this horrible pain in his ear and it takes him a few seconds to realise that it's because he's had his cell phone pinned tight in one position for the best part of two hours.
A barrage of questions had only mystified Richardson, who shrugged and simply checked his phone for updates. Every other attempt at getting information about Barney is met with a stone wall of nothing. Managers seem to be ensconced in meetings or unavailable, and nobody knows anything more than Marshall has already been told.
Barney has been shot. Barney is alive.
Most of the staff at GNB simply look at Marshall as though he should know everything already, if he's really Mr Stinson's close friend. The frustrating thing is that this isn't some conspiracy of silence; more like, it's just standard bureaucratic incompetence. Really, no one knows anything.
When Ted gets there, Marshall is aflame with impotent anger. Without Barney, he soon realises he has virtually no power or influence at the Bank. Nobody listens to him and nobody cares. In one, horribly selfish moment, there's a lurch in Marshall's stomach when he contemplates what this place would be like for him without Barney's protection. And if Barney dies, things will be a lot harder for him, maybe. For a few hours this possibility dogs Marshall, and makes him hate himself a little bit.
"I'm no good at this," he rages at Ted. "The corporate stuff was always- is always Barney's thing." He's on the edge of blubbing.
"No!" Ted reaches out a hand. "No, Marshall. You're a crusader! You never let the bad guy win. That's all you, man!"
Marshall smiles and nods, and they slowly share out the task of calling up all the hospitals in Manhattan. They tell Lily to stay at school under strict instruction to let her know the moment they find their friend. They leave Robin to sleep. Her schedule's got her so stressed that neither of them can cope with the thought of her storming down here right now, guns a-blazing.
Maybe even literally guns a-blazing. As if that would help right now.
Neither of Marshall nor Ted voices the fear that right now their friend could be anywhere, even in a foreign country.
Right now, their friend could be dying.
*--*--*
Marshall gets the call at 6:16 p.m. First he notices that there's a missed call that must have come in while he was on the line with the latest hospital. He's just checking it when his phone goes off in his hand.
Let's go to the mall chirps out it's tinny tune.
"Barney!" Marshall gulps.
"Hey, Bro!" The familiar voice makes him go hot and cold at the same time. "You'll never guess what happened to me today? Go on, guess!"
"What?" Marshall responds automatically, despite everything.
Ted mimes putting the caller on speakerphone and Marshall complies.
"I got shot!" Barney's voice rings out, clear and true.
Their voices overlap - "Bro, are you okay?", "Dude! Where are you?"
He tells them.
*--*--*
"We tried to find you all day. You'd think it would be simple, finding a guy admitted to hospital with a gunshot wound in New York City."
Barney nods and laughs and nods and laughs. Marshall waves at his friend to lean on him but Barney shrugs it off, trying awkwardly to climb out of the wheelchair, one handed.
His left arm is in a sling. There's a large bandage across his upper arm and shoulder, visible under the t-shirt Ted's leant him.
The devil's in the detail, Marshall thinks. The spatter of blood stains, dark scarlet against the light grey material of Barney's suit paints.
"So what happened?" Ted asks, while Marshall surreptitiously tries to stop Barney from falling over before the cab pulls up by the curb outside the hospital. "I mean, should you even be released? Don't they want to keep you in, for observation?"
Neither Ted nor Marshall know what "for observation" means. It's just the sort of thing people tend to say in medical dramas on TV.
"Bros," Barney says, waving his arms around and almost toppling head-first into the cab. "Broskis! They shot me up with some rad drugs, and left me staring into space all on my lonesome. There's no way in Hades I was staying in that place. It's too-" He shakes his head, brows drawing together in a tight frown.
Marshall and Ted flank Barney, one on each side, as they slide into the back seat of the yellow cab.
"What happened?" Ted repeats.
"Drive by shooting, brah!" Barney slurs. "Winged me, the jerk." When he sees Ted and Marshall's expressions he laughs. "Don't worry, it's just a flesh wound, went right through. Couple 'o stitches and I was fine." He giggles a bit and Ted shoots Marshall a pointed look as their friend leans forward to bang the flat of his hand against the partition. "Driver!" He yells imperiously. "Take us to MacLaren's Pub! I need beer!"
"Dude, I really don't think you should be drinking when you're all hopped up on meds," Marshall protests.
"Beer!" Barney insists.
Marshall lets it go for now and the cab speeds through the late evening traffic. But there's a large part of Marshall's brain that doesn't believe a word of Barney's explanation. There's a part of him that's expecting gun fire any moment, expecting an explosion of glass as a sniper's bullet rips through the window to finish off their friend. And there's a deep pain that runs from his belly and up into his chest, burning with peptic acid and fear, that tells him he needs to find out what in the hell is going on. And fast.
This feels like a final warning, but Marshall has no idea from where. Or from whom.
Part Four