Number Sixty Six (10/?)
“By the way Kitty, if only you’d been really with me in my dream, there was one thing you would have enjoyed - I had such a quantity of poetry said to me, all about fishes. Tomorrow morning you shall have a real treat. All the time you’re eating your breakfast, I’ll repeat ‘The Walrus and the Carpenter’ to you, and then you can make believe it’s oysters, dear…”
**
Barney has found restlessness as the hours have gone by.
And by now the sun is coming up.
And by now he has a million questions.
Like what exactly is going through Robin Scherbatsky’s head?
Like how exactly is she still functioning when he’s pretty sure he would fold like a poorly made lawn chair if he were in her position?
He hasn’t slept at all because he can’t stop remembering the way she’d looked at him.
He can't stop remembering the way she'd looked.
And by now his mind is running in circles.
And by now he has a million questions.
Like what exactly would she do…like how exactly would she react if he acted on his countless impulses and stepped in here, if he did something to…just…
He has a million questions.
Like what should somebody do when he’s so very used to getting things done, solving problems, making a bad situation go away for good? And what should somebody do if he’d like to act now - to fix this or solve it - even though he knows that it might not…just…
God, he has these questions.
Like what if his fingers are itching and his blood is starting to boil just a little too hot and his mind is racing, and as the hours pass things inside of him wind tighter, coil hard around the pillar of his emotions because there’s nothing else nearby to grab onto, no one to confide in, nothing he can think of to really do that won’t cross some kind of thickly drawn line in the metaphorical sand?
He doesn’t know where she is and he doesn’t know how she’s feeling, and part of him still can’t quite believe this.
He thinks he hates her father.
He has a million questions.
Like what if he’s alone and on the edge of something, what if he’s made a promise not to tell and so there’s only his decisions and nobody else’s?
Like what if he’s not sure whether he should stand still and quiet and wait for storms to pass, or if he should reach back and pull out the cards he has hidden in his back pocket - aces, smoking guns…
Like what if he's sure he knows exactly how to solve this particular problem but deep down he’s wondering if it’s really what he should do, how he should react, like he’s not sure it’s really his problem to solve…he's not sure what role it is he's playing here...or if he has any real role at all...
Barney Stinson splashes cold water on his face and tells himself to get it together.
He looks up at his reflection.
He knows plenty of people.
He’s got U.S. officials on speed dial.
He’s dined with a guy who lives in an apartment two blocks north and who he’s pretty sure gets paid to kill public figures in ways that seem completely and utterly natural.
There are very important people in North Korea who owe him piles upon piles of money.
His friends joke and that’s fine, but Barney Stinson is a bottom line kind of guy, and the bottom line is that he’s skilled and connected and it would be beyond easy for him to make this problem of Robin Scherbatsky’s totally disappear.
He knows plenty of people, and he knows how to play this game.
But what should a man do when his fingers are itching and his blood is boiling and he’s in love with her and he’s pretty sure that means he’s not thinking straight?
Barney Stinson looks himself over in the mirror, waiting for an answer.
**
“’Now, Kitty, let’s consider who it was that dreamed it all. This is a serious question, my dear…it must have been either me or the Red King. He was part of my dream, of course, but then I was part of his dream, too…’
…Which do you think it was?
A boat beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July -“
**
He paces back and forth.
He doesn’t want to think too hard about it, doesn’t want to sit too hard on top of it, he doesn’t want to linger on this idea that’s struck him, this inner-eye vision of how she got her bruises, how exactly fingers wrapped on arms…
It’s been a while since he’s had this protective restlessness, this itch and this tightening in his stomach.
It’s been a while.
The sun is peeking over the horizon and Barney paces back and forth, confused, restless, sleepless and on edge.
He remembers good morning.
He remembers sitting at a kitchen table and blindly inhaling some kind of sugared unhealthy breakfast cereal, hoping he could grab his books and be out the door before anybody else wandered down the stairs, not caring if he’d have to stand at the bus stop for a half hour, forty minutes, forty five. He’d swallow his orange juice in one gulp. He’d shove his books into a backpack haphazardly. He’d run a hand through his hair and he’d drop his bowl in the sink and then sometimes he still wasn’t fast enough.
Sometimes the hurrying didn’t matter.
He remembers half-dressed men and he remembers unshaven cheeks and bleary eyes and confused facial expressions.
He remembers having to say good morning when what he meant was get out of my house.
He tries not to remember too often, but that kind of thing could be hard to forget.
‘Good morning’ and ‘get out,’ he would learn to think, were synonymous phrases.
Barney Stinson to this day does his best to avoid the first, instead usually opting to voice out loud the second, no matter how harsh it comes out sounding.
Good morning, he used to say.
Get out.
He remembers that his mother sometimes had a strange sort of look in her eye, distant, forced and careful, and he remembers hating whoever had put it there.
He remembers not wanting to think too hard about it, not wanting to sit too hard on top of it, but still feeling that itch of protective restlessness in his fingers, still feeling that boil rising in his blood.
And now this all seems familiar and he remembers good morning and he paces back and forth.
He thinks he’s probably not thinking straight.
**
“Children three that nestle near
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear -“
**
New York City cabs make quick work of crossing town if you tell them how to do it, so it’s within the hour that Barney ends up banging on their door, hoping the right person answers.
He’s disheveled and he’s restless and he wants action, wants to fix this, wants to change things for her, but the more he thinks about it the more he thinks it’s probably wiser to hold steady, to wait, to figure things out, to stay calm and cool and collected. He’s been so patient up until now, and he can feel it starting to wear on him, starting to tear at his seams, starting to unravel his perfectly tailored exterior.
He didn’t even put on a suit coat.
Because she has bruises on her arms.
And he’s in love with her.
He’s going a little bit crazy and he needs somebody to tell him what to do.
Ted answers the door in his pajamas and annoyed, and Barney sees it as a kind of victory because he doesn’t want to have to see Robin right now, he can’t talk to Robin right now without saying much too much.
He needs somebody to tell him what to do.
He checks all the rooms in the apartment just to be sure Robin is definitely someplace else - at work or wherever - and his body is fast and direct as he swings through the living room, knocks on the door to the bathroom, checks her bedroom and then heads to the kitchen. If he were more concerned with appearances he might have looked at Ted’s expression at some point, but he doesn’t care because there are bigger things, right now. There are bigger things and he needs to…
Just…
He reaches into the fridge and grabs two beers, ignoring the fact that it’s like six AM and drinking isn’t usually done at this kind of hour. He hands one to Ted, who’s stuck immobile in the doorway.
“…Barney…” Ted eventually greets him, dry and sardonic.
Barney ignores his tone. “Ted,” he starts, “We’re about to have a very abrupt conversation that is definitely going to confuse you and you’re going to want to ask questions but I’m telling you right now I won’t be able to answer them.” He takes a deep breath and adjusts his crooked tie. “I need advice,” he explains, letting his foot kick back and slam the door closed.
Ted is frozen like he thinks somebody else is there who might think his stunned statue-like behavior is funny.
Barney ignores his humor. He says “I need you to tell me how I can…”
But here he stops, pausing because he’d figured out during the cab ride how to get this out and still protect Robin’s privacy. He’d figured out how to tell Ted enough of something without getting into everything, enough that Ted could be Ted, could say the right thing and make this a little easier.
Barney moves to sit on the arm of the sofa and he braces his elbows on his knees.
God, he doesn’t know what to do.
He just doesn’t know.
This never happens.
He needs somebody to tell him.
Ted’s hand lands on his back and for a second Barney’s grateful, but then Ted opens up his mouth and says in a voice filled with false wonder: “Are you having emotions? Should I call Lily and Marshall over to see this?” and Barney picks up his head and offers a flat, unforgiving stare, because it’s the kind of thing they always say and it’s the kind of thing he’s recently decided he’s not ok with them saying.
He can feel himself growing up.
Ted recognizes the look, he recognizes the mood and it’s only seconds before he holds his arms out in apology, standing back, gesturing that Barney should go ahead.
“What’s up?” Ted asks.
Barney sips his beer and thinks.
**
“Long had paled that sunny sky
Echoes fade and memories die
Autumn frosts have slain July -“
**
Barney Stinson swallows a mouthful of beer and begins to explain without actually explaining.
“What if…” he says, and then he takes a deep breath and he frowns. “What if someone you love is struggling with something and…you know you could fix it for them, but you’re worried that might not be the right thing to do?” he asks quietly.
Ted stares at him, unsure. “Someone you love?” he questions.
Barney deliberately misses Ted’s point, calmly responding: “Right. And you know that you could help them…or you could…fix it for them if you just pulled a few strings, talked to a few guys, maybe threatened a few people - you know you could fix it, but you’re thinking maybe it would make them angry or maybe it would really be better if…” Barney shakes his head at himself…he’s not doing this right. Ted just stands there, staring, open-mouthed and the opposite of helpful, and so Barney tries again. “Do you think it would be better to let that person try to fix it themselves? Like if it was the kind of thing that would…that they should…face…?” he quirks an eyebrow at himself with that because really he’s not sure what the hell he’s saying, but Ted’s expression has turned thoughtful and Barney can tell he’s considering this, seriously thinking it over, weighing what Barney has presented to him.
Barney must’ve made sense somewhere in there, he guesses.
“You mean if it’s like something that could make them grow as a person if they faced it?” Ted asks and Barney’s eyes light up and he snaps a finger.
“Yes! Yes it might make them grow as a person, but it would be really difficult for them, like it would seem impossible probably.”
“Obi Wan and Luke,” Ted assumes, and Barney leans back and tosses his hands up, nodding and exhaling a relieved breath, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that.
“Exactly.”
Ted nods sagely and sips his beer.
“Barney, what’s this about?” Ted asks eventually, suspiciously concerned and too intelligent for his own good, and Barney gets it...gets the curious look in Ted's eye and gets why Ted squints and why Ted shifts uncomfortably on his feet.
Barney gets it because Barney has a million questions.
But...it's just...
God, it's Robin.
And she has bruises on her arms and he's in love with her and he's going a little bit crazy and he needs somebody to tell him what to do...and she asked him not to say a word.
He sighs out a heavy breath and lets his head hang down between his shoulders, looks down at the hardwood floor beneath him, and when his voice comes out it almost sounds broken.
“Bro, believe me,” he clears his throat even though it won’t help, “this is, um…” he shakes his head a little, “This is murdering me, and if I could tell you I would,” he promises quietly. “I mean it’s…it is murdering me.” Barney stares down at the wood beneath his feet, stares down and tries to keep it together, to swallow all of the things he’s feeling, all of the bloody kinds of thoughts he’s been thinking and all of the frantic kinds of emotions he’s been feeling and how he’s haunted now, by what might have been her childhood.
He’s haunted by the thought of it.
“Is this about Robin?” Ted prods.
**
“Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.”
**
“Stop asking questions, Ted," Barney warns and it's like he's maybe talking to himself. "I’m telling you I can’t answer them.” It sounds harsh, serious, grown up, and Barney pins Ted with a hard-edged look, shaking his head in warning. Ted looks worried but he bites at his bottom lip and nods in agreement.
He sips his beer.
He thinks it over.
Barney needs somebody to tell him what to do.
“Uh, yeah,” Ted ventures, “Yes, I would try to get the person I loved to conquer the situation themselves,” he finally admits, his voice punching on the word love more than Barney feels comfortable with, but he can’t really think about that at the moment.
Barney squints and nods. He inhales. He's worried that he doesn't know quite how to do this.
“How?” Barney asks.
Ted’s head tilts in question. “How what?”
“How would you…How can I get her to…” Barney’s hand lifts and wipes across his face, tired and resigned because this is all newer, older, more intense than he’s been used to.
Ted shifts on his feet, clears his throat, seems to consider what exactly he should say next. Eventually he inhales a deep breath. “Robin’s problem is that she bottles things up,” he says, removing the mystery and boldly choosing to call her by name. It makes Barney’s brow furrow and it makes him lean a little closer.
Barney listens hard.
Ted goes on, “She doesn’t talk,” he states. “She’s afraid of her feelings, she shuts out the world." He lists these things off, and they all sound right, so Barney nods. This all sounds familiar, so Barney nods. Ted keeps talking. “I could never really get her to let me in, to open up to me and talk about…whatever,” he shrugs, “I dated her for a year and I hardly know anything about her, really,” - it sounds sad, it sounds regretful or maybe wistful and Barney gets that, he knows that. Barney understands. Ted shrugs for a second time, resigned. “She wouldn’t tell me things. But maybe with you she...maybe with you it's different.” He chooses his words carefully and it’s something Barney appreciates. “Just get her to talk and then…” Ted’s head shakes and he thinks for a second, “You know what, she’s smart. Get her to talk and she’ll figure out the rest.” He sighs and sips his beer and he looks thoughtful again, like he’s remembering, like he’s imagining some other time. “Just…Don’t push her,” he advises. “I always pushed, I think.”
Barney squints in concentration and he takes this in, he takes it as reinforcement of the things he’s already guessed, and now he knows for certain that he can’t go out and strangle Charlie Scherbatsky, even though that’s really what he’d like to do.
He knows Ted is right.
He can’t go out and strangle Charlie Scherbatsky.
Even though that’s really really what he’d like to do.
He has to get Charlie’s daughter to talk.
**
"Children, yet the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die..."
**
“I think I’m going insane,” Barney croaks.
Because she has these bruises on her arms.
And he's in love with her.
Ted chuckles in a resigned kind of way. “Robin has that effect on men,” he says, and it makes Barney grimace.
It makes him suck in a hissing breath and then clear his throat to avoid speaking his thoughts aloud. Because Ted has no idea, really. Ted doesn’t have any idea.
The silence hangs for a few seconds and Barney knows Ted is swallowing words, too…that Ted is trying hard not to ask him a million different questions.
“Barney?” is all Ted eventually forces out.
Barney looks him in the eye.
“I’m trying to be better,” he confesses and it’s young sounding and for a second he’s embarrassed that he’s said it out loud, but Ted’s expression is open and accepting and Barney shakes off his discomfort. “I’m trying to be enough for her, but…” he blinks and rubs his hand across his brow, frustrated, confused, “It’s just me with this and I’m so afraid of doing the wrong thing.”
Barney feels the pressure of it pressing down on him.
He feels the weight of it tugging at his collar.
He feels the sweat of it dripping down his spine and he has to clench his jaw to keep from dropping it all at Ted’s feet. He’s trying to be better, patient, older and all of the things he thinks she probably needs.
He feels himself growing up.
Ted eyes him knowingly, an empathetic frown on his face, and he moves to head back to his bedroom, planting a hand on Barney’s shoulder as he passes.
“You’re a good man, Barney,” Ted promises.
A good man.
It’s something no one has ever called him before and it pulls a lump to Barney’s throat. He wonders if it’s true, but he knows that Ted chooses careful words, so this gives him legs to stand on and gives him some tiny seed of faith in himself. This makes him calm and cool and strong enough to maybe take something on.
He’d say thank you, but he doesn’t think it would suffice.
He’d say I owe you but it would be the biggest understatement of the century. Because in just five minutes or so Ted has…god he doesn’t even know, but he knows he feels lighter and he feels older and part of that is because of this, because of him.
He stands and leaves his beer on the coffee table, pulling the door open, pausing to glance over his shoulder.
“You too, Ted,” Barney responds.
He remembers good morning like goodbye and sometimes saying one thing is really saying something else.
It’s the closest Barney can get to what he really means.
Ted nods quietly in understanding.
(To Chapter 11)
**
Barney has found restlessness as the hours have gone by.
And by now the sun is coming up.
And by now he has a million questions.
Like what exactly is going through Robin Scherbatsky’s head?
Like how exactly is she still functioning when he’s pretty sure he would fold like a poorly made lawn chair if he were in her position?
He hasn’t slept at all because he can’t stop remembering the way she’d looked at him.
He can't stop remembering the way she'd looked.
And by now his mind is running in circles.
And by now he has a million questions.
Like what exactly would she do…like how exactly would she react if he acted on his countless impulses and stepped in here, if he did something to…just…
He has a million questions.
Like what should somebody do when he’s so very used to getting things done, solving problems, making a bad situation go away for good? And what should somebody do if he’d like to act now - to fix this or solve it - even though he knows that it might not…just…
God, he has these questions.
Like what if his fingers are itching and his blood is starting to boil just a little too hot and his mind is racing, and as the hours pass things inside of him wind tighter, coil hard around the pillar of his emotions because there’s nothing else nearby to grab onto, no one to confide in, nothing he can think of to really do that won’t cross some kind of thickly drawn line in the metaphorical sand?
He doesn’t know where she is and he doesn’t know how she’s feeling, and part of him still can’t quite believe this.
He thinks he hates her father.
He has a million questions.
Like what if he’s alone and on the edge of something, what if he’s made a promise not to tell and so there’s only his decisions and nobody else’s?
Like what if he’s not sure whether he should stand still and quiet and wait for storms to pass, or if he should reach back and pull out the cards he has hidden in his back pocket - aces, smoking guns…
Like what if he's sure he knows exactly how to solve this particular problem but deep down he’s wondering if it’s really what he should do, how he should react, like he’s not sure it’s really his problem to solve…he's not sure what role it is he's playing here...or if he has any real role at all...
Barney Stinson splashes cold water on his face and tells himself to get it together.
He looks up at his reflection.
He knows plenty of people.
He’s got U.S. officials on speed dial.
He’s dined with a guy who lives in an apartment two blocks north and who he’s pretty sure gets paid to kill public figures in ways that seem completely and utterly natural.
There are very important people in North Korea who owe him piles upon piles of money.
His friends joke and that’s fine, but Barney Stinson is a bottom line kind of guy, and the bottom line is that he’s skilled and connected and it would be beyond easy for him to make this problem of Robin Scherbatsky’s totally disappear.
He knows plenty of people, and he knows how to play this game.
But what should a man do when his fingers are itching and his blood is boiling and he’s in love with her and he’s pretty sure that means he’s not thinking straight?
Barney Stinson looks himself over in the mirror, waiting for an answer.
**
“’Now, Kitty, let’s consider who it was that dreamed it all. This is a serious question, my dear…it must have been either me or the Red King. He was part of my dream, of course, but then I was part of his dream, too…’
…Which do you think it was?
A boat beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July -“
**
He paces back and forth.
He doesn’t want to think too hard about it, doesn’t want to sit too hard on top of it, he doesn’t want to linger on this idea that’s struck him, this inner-eye vision of how she got her bruises, how exactly fingers wrapped on arms…
It’s been a while since he’s had this protective restlessness, this itch and this tightening in his stomach.
It’s been a while.
The sun is peeking over the horizon and Barney paces back and forth, confused, restless, sleepless and on edge.
He remembers good morning.
He remembers sitting at a kitchen table and blindly inhaling some kind of sugared unhealthy breakfast cereal, hoping he could grab his books and be out the door before anybody else wandered down the stairs, not caring if he’d have to stand at the bus stop for a half hour, forty minutes, forty five. He’d swallow his orange juice in one gulp. He’d shove his books into a backpack haphazardly. He’d run a hand through his hair and he’d drop his bowl in the sink and then sometimes he still wasn’t fast enough.
Sometimes the hurrying didn’t matter.
He remembers half-dressed men and he remembers unshaven cheeks and bleary eyes and confused facial expressions.
He remembers having to say good morning when what he meant was get out of my house.
He tries not to remember too often, but that kind of thing could be hard to forget.
‘Good morning’ and ‘get out,’ he would learn to think, were synonymous phrases.
Barney Stinson to this day does his best to avoid the first, instead usually opting to voice out loud the second, no matter how harsh it comes out sounding.
Good morning, he used to say.
Get out.
He remembers that his mother sometimes had a strange sort of look in her eye, distant, forced and careful, and he remembers hating whoever had put it there.
He remembers not wanting to think too hard about it, not wanting to sit too hard on top of it, but still feeling that itch of protective restlessness in his fingers, still feeling that boil rising in his blood.
And now this all seems familiar and he remembers good morning and he paces back and forth.
He thinks he’s probably not thinking straight.
**
“Children three that nestle near
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear -“
**
New York City cabs make quick work of crossing town if you tell them how to do it, so it’s within the hour that Barney ends up banging on their door, hoping the right person answers.
He’s disheveled and he’s restless and he wants action, wants to fix this, wants to change things for her, but the more he thinks about it the more he thinks it’s probably wiser to hold steady, to wait, to figure things out, to stay calm and cool and collected. He’s been so patient up until now, and he can feel it starting to wear on him, starting to tear at his seams, starting to unravel his perfectly tailored exterior.
He didn’t even put on a suit coat.
Because she has bruises on her arms.
And he’s in love with her.
He’s going a little bit crazy and he needs somebody to tell him what to do.
Ted answers the door in his pajamas and annoyed, and Barney sees it as a kind of victory because he doesn’t want to have to see Robin right now, he can’t talk to Robin right now without saying much too much.
He needs somebody to tell him what to do.
He checks all the rooms in the apartment just to be sure Robin is definitely someplace else - at work or wherever - and his body is fast and direct as he swings through the living room, knocks on the door to the bathroom, checks her bedroom and then heads to the kitchen. If he were more concerned with appearances he might have looked at Ted’s expression at some point, but he doesn’t care because there are bigger things, right now. There are bigger things and he needs to…
Just…
He reaches into the fridge and grabs two beers, ignoring the fact that it’s like six AM and drinking isn’t usually done at this kind of hour. He hands one to Ted, who’s stuck immobile in the doorway.
“…Barney…” Ted eventually greets him, dry and sardonic.
Barney ignores his tone. “Ted,” he starts, “We’re about to have a very abrupt conversation that is definitely going to confuse you and you’re going to want to ask questions but I’m telling you right now I won’t be able to answer them.” He takes a deep breath and adjusts his crooked tie. “I need advice,” he explains, letting his foot kick back and slam the door closed.
Ted is frozen like he thinks somebody else is there who might think his stunned statue-like behavior is funny.
Barney ignores his humor. He says “I need you to tell me how I can…”
But here he stops, pausing because he’d figured out during the cab ride how to get this out and still protect Robin’s privacy. He’d figured out how to tell Ted enough of something without getting into everything, enough that Ted could be Ted, could say the right thing and make this a little easier.
Barney moves to sit on the arm of the sofa and he braces his elbows on his knees.
God, he doesn’t know what to do.
He just doesn’t know.
This never happens.
He needs somebody to tell him.
Ted’s hand lands on his back and for a second Barney’s grateful, but then Ted opens up his mouth and says in a voice filled with false wonder: “Are you having emotions? Should I call Lily and Marshall over to see this?” and Barney picks up his head and offers a flat, unforgiving stare, because it’s the kind of thing they always say and it’s the kind of thing he’s recently decided he’s not ok with them saying.
He can feel himself growing up.
Ted recognizes the look, he recognizes the mood and it’s only seconds before he holds his arms out in apology, standing back, gesturing that Barney should go ahead.
“What’s up?” Ted asks.
Barney sips his beer and thinks.
**
“Long had paled that sunny sky
Echoes fade and memories die
Autumn frosts have slain July -“
**
Barney Stinson swallows a mouthful of beer and begins to explain without actually explaining.
“What if…” he says, and then he takes a deep breath and he frowns. “What if someone you love is struggling with something and…you know you could fix it for them, but you’re worried that might not be the right thing to do?” he asks quietly.
Ted stares at him, unsure. “Someone you love?” he questions.
Barney deliberately misses Ted’s point, calmly responding: “Right. And you know that you could help them…or you could…fix it for them if you just pulled a few strings, talked to a few guys, maybe threatened a few people - you know you could fix it, but you’re thinking maybe it would make them angry or maybe it would really be better if…” Barney shakes his head at himself…he’s not doing this right. Ted just stands there, staring, open-mouthed and the opposite of helpful, and so Barney tries again. “Do you think it would be better to let that person try to fix it themselves? Like if it was the kind of thing that would…that they should…face…?” he quirks an eyebrow at himself with that because really he’s not sure what the hell he’s saying, but Ted’s expression has turned thoughtful and Barney can tell he’s considering this, seriously thinking it over, weighing what Barney has presented to him.
Barney must’ve made sense somewhere in there, he guesses.
“You mean if it’s like something that could make them grow as a person if they faced it?” Ted asks and Barney’s eyes light up and he snaps a finger.
“Yes! Yes it might make them grow as a person, but it would be really difficult for them, like it would seem impossible probably.”
“Obi Wan and Luke,” Ted assumes, and Barney leans back and tosses his hands up, nodding and exhaling a relieved breath, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that.
“Exactly.”
Ted nods sagely and sips his beer.
“Barney, what’s this about?” Ted asks eventually, suspiciously concerned and too intelligent for his own good, and Barney gets it...gets the curious look in Ted's eye and gets why Ted squints and why Ted shifts uncomfortably on his feet.
Barney gets it because Barney has a million questions.
But...it's just...
God, it's Robin.
And she has bruises on her arms and he's in love with her and he's going a little bit crazy and he needs somebody to tell him what to do...and she asked him not to say a word.
He sighs out a heavy breath and lets his head hang down between his shoulders, looks down at the hardwood floor beneath him, and when his voice comes out it almost sounds broken.
“Bro, believe me,” he clears his throat even though it won’t help, “this is, um…” he shakes his head a little, “This is murdering me, and if I could tell you I would,” he promises quietly. “I mean it’s…it is murdering me.” Barney stares down at the wood beneath his feet, stares down and tries to keep it together, to swallow all of the things he’s feeling, all of the bloody kinds of thoughts he’s been thinking and all of the frantic kinds of emotions he’s been feeling and how he’s haunted now, by what might have been her childhood.
He’s haunted by the thought of it.
“Is this about Robin?” Ted prods.
**
“Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.”
**
“Stop asking questions, Ted," Barney warns and it's like he's maybe talking to himself. "I’m telling you I can’t answer them.” It sounds harsh, serious, grown up, and Barney pins Ted with a hard-edged look, shaking his head in warning. Ted looks worried but he bites at his bottom lip and nods in agreement.
He sips his beer.
He thinks it over.
Barney needs somebody to tell him what to do.
“Uh, yeah,” Ted ventures, “Yes, I would try to get the person I loved to conquer the situation themselves,” he finally admits, his voice punching on the word love more than Barney feels comfortable with, but he can’t really think about that at the moment.
Barney squints and nods. He inhales. He's worried that he doesn't know quite how to do this.
“How?” Barney asks.
Ted’s head tilts in question. “How what?”
“How would you…How can I get her to…” Barney’s hand lifts and wipes across his face, tired and resigned because this is all newer, older, more intense than he’s been used to.
Ted shifts on his feet, clears his throat, seems to consider what exactly he should say next. Eventually he inhales a deep breath. “Robin’s problem is that she bottles things up,” he says, removing the mystery and boldly choosing to call her by name. It makes Barney’s brow furrow and it makes him lean a little closer.
Barney listens hard.
Ted goes on, “She doesn’t talk,” he states. “She’s afraid of her feelings, she shuts out the world." He lists these things off, and they all sound right, so Barney nods. This all sounds familiar, so Barney nods. Ted keeps talking. “I could never really get her to let me in, to open up to me and talk about…whatever,” he shrugs, “I dated her for a year and I hardly know anything about her, really,” - it sounds sad, it sounds regretful or maybe wistful and Barney gets that, he knows that. Barney understands. Ted shrugs for a second time, resigned. “She wouldn’t tell me things. But maybe with you she...maybe with you it's different.” He chooses his words carefully and it’s something Barney appreciates. “Just get her to talk and then…” Ted’s head shakes and he thinks for a second, “You know what, she’s smart. Get her to talk and she’ll figure out the rest.” He sighs and sips his beer and he looks thoughtful again, like he’s remembering, like he’s imagining some other time. “Just…Don’t push her,” he advises. “I always pushed, I think.”
Barney squints in concentration and he takes this in, he takes it as reinforcement of the things he’s already guessed, and now he knows for certain that he can’t go out and strangle Charlie Scherbatsky, even though that’s really what he’d like to do.
He knows Ted is right.
He can’t go out and strangle Charlie Scherbatsky.
Even though that’s really really what he’d like to do.
He has to get Charlie’s daughter to talk.
**
"Children, yet the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die..."
**
“I think I’m going insane,” Barney croaks.
Because she has these bruises on her arms.
And he's in love with her.
Ted chuckles in a resigned kind of way. “Robin has that effect on men,” he says, and it makes Barney grimace.
It makes him suck in a hissing breath and then clear his throat to avoid speaking his thoughts aloud. Because Ted has no idea, really. Ted doesn’t have any idea.
The silence hangs for a few seconds and Barney knows Ted is swallowing words, too…that Ted is trying hard not to ask him a million different questions.
“Barney?” is all Ted eventually forces out.
Barney looks him in the eye.
“I’m trying to be better,” he confesses and it’s young sounding and for a second he’s embarrassed that he’s said it out loud, but Ted’s expression is open and accepting and Barney shakes off his discomfort. “I’m trying to be enough for her, but…” he blinks and rubs his hand across his brow, frustrated, confused, “It’s just me with this and I’m so afraid of doing the wrong thing.”
Barney feels the pressure of it pressing down on him.
He feels the weight of it tugging at his collar.
He feels the sweat of it dripping down his spine and he has to clench his jaw to keep from dropping it all at Ted’s feet. He’s trying to be better, patient, older and all of the things he thinks she probably needs.
He feels himself growing up.
Ted eyes him knowingly, an empathetic frown on his face, and he moves to head back to his bedroom, planting a hand on Barney’s shoulder as he passes.
“You’re a good man, Barney,” Ted promises.
A good man.
It’s something no one has ever called him before and it pulls a lump to Barney’s throat. He wonders if it’s true, but he knows that Ted chooses careful words, so this gives him legs to stand on and gives him some tiny seed of faith in himself. This makes him calm and cool and strong enough to maybe take something on.
He’d say thank you, but he doesn’t think it would suffice.
He’d say I owe you but it would be the biggest understatement of the century. Because in just five minutes or so Ted has…god he doesn’t even know, but he knows he feels lighter and he feels older and part of that is because of this, because of him.
He stands and leaves his beer on the coffee table, pulling the door open, pausing to glance over his shoulder.
“You too, Ted,” Barney responds.
He remembers good morning like goodbye and sometimes saying one thing is really saying something else.
It’s the closest Barney can get to what he really means.
Ted nods quietly in understanding.
(To Chapter 11)