I have no idea what subject line works for this.
Two weeks ago (I haven't been having the best record on doing things on time lately), I posted a ficlet-by-request meme, and roga asked for: Barney/Robin! Or: Ziva gen or Ziva/Tony. This is... in no way, shape or form that. However, it's still her fault; such are the perils of the internet.
Robin's looking at some papers when Barney slides into the opposite side of the booth.
She looks up. Barney's smiling innocently, which is always alarming.
"So," she says, "this was here when I came in."
Barney's smile widens.
"Also," Robin says, "a few minutes ago a woman came by and asked me if I wanted the house cocktail."
"Ah," Barney says. "Good choice there."
"Barney," Robin says, with great care and a mild amount of foreboding, "if I'd said yes, where exactly would she get the booze from?"
"I'm glad you asked, Scherbatsky!" He lifts his suitcase up onto the table and goes to open it, and Robin is fully expecting to see hundreds of very very tiny bottles, but he just gets out some folders and lays them in front of him without looking. "Dr. Stella has awesomely allowed me to put a personal crate in one of the unused units." He waggles his eyebrows at her.
Robin looks at him. "Barney. You put booze in the morgue?"
"I said an unused unit," Barney says dismissively. "It's not touching the bodies or anything. So, what did you choose?"
"Well, I said I was on the clock," Robin says patiently. "We agreed on coffee in the end. She didn't look too happy about it, though." A thought occurs. "Barney, will the milk come from the morgue?"
"Robin," Barney says, leaning forward towards her -- Robin is briefly torn between vaguely wanting to lean forward too and wanting to lean way back, or possibly just go somewhere else where the sane people live -- "You of all people aren't someone I'd expect to flinch from a little morgueiness in your morning coffee."
Robin frowns. Leaning back it is. "I'm not flinching. It's just that some things aren't right. How did you get this in here, anyway?"
Barney leans back too now, folding his arms and grinning smugly. "I've got moves with the Director."
This would be endlessly disturbing, except, "Yeah. Right."
The smugness shifts, but doesn't go away. "Also, I might have told her it was for a case." Robin keeps looking at him. "What? I paid for it with my own money."
"What about --" Robin starts, but Barney puts up a blocking hand hurriedly and says, "Don't say the name! Don't say the name! You know what happens!"
She can't refute that, and while Barney deserves to be caught -- and she can't imagine how he thinks he won't be -- this is kind of entertaining, in a trainwreck sort of way, as so many things with Barney are, so she nods at him to continue.
"He's out all day," Barney says. "Running Mysterious Errands. As Senior Field Officer, I say this is going to be -- wait for it --"
"I'm going to my computer now," Robin says, pointing at it and sliding out. The sliding is kind of fun, actually. Maybe she should get a booth at home.
"Legendary!" Barney says to her back. He probably high fives the air, too, but Robin's busy checking her email.
****
"So check this out," Marshall says, coming in. He's holding a cup that might have coffee underneath the small mountain of whipped cream, though there's no way to tell. "Apparently we got a budget boost or something, because we've got a tea lady now."
Barney frowns. "Wendy is a waitress," he says. "What the hell's a tea lady?"
"You know," Marshall says. He raises his cup in a salute; the whipped cream wobbles but, Robin's a bit disappointed to note, does not fall. "She makes coffee for us."
"That doesn't even make sense," Barney says disapprovingly. "You're just trying to dodge tipping."
Marshall blinks. "I was supposed to tip her?"
"You can do it when you leave," Barney says. He pats Marshall's shoulder reassuringly and heads out.
"Oh-kay," Marshall says. Robin raises her own coffee cup, no milk, at him. "Hey, why's there a diner booth in here?"
"I think it's a bar booth," Robin says. "Also, don't freak out, but I think your whipped cream might've come from the morgue."
"Really?" Marshall squints at the cup, then samples it. "No, it tastes fine. So did we get any word on the Shelby case?"
"Actually, yeah," Robin says. "Local police found a similar substance after a house robbery in the area, they sent it in this morning. Barney just went to the lab. I think."
Marshall blinks. "Now that I think about it," he says, "was he really holding a shot glass when he left?"
"There's no way to be sure," Robin says. "You know, maybe I'll go there too. Just in case."
****
"This," Ted says, "is awesome."
Barney beams. "What did I tell you? Home-made Caf-Pow. Carl's a genius."
"That shouldn't even be possible," Ted says. "You don't home-make soda." He takes a sip. "Awesome."
Robin peers at their sample. "I still don't get this. What would you gain from filling the keyhole with this stuff? They'd already got the door open."
Ted brightens up even more. "Oh, yeah. This is the weirdest thing I've seen -- well, this week. See this here?" He taps a screen, where a graph is showing some zigzag lines. "You know what this is? It's an enzyme found in -- mostly -- goat hair."
"Goat hair," Barney says. "Somebody put, what, goat hair extract in the keyhole of Seaman Shelby's door? And then robbed another house with it? Am I missing where this makes sense?"
"Well, it's not just the enzyme," Ted says. "And it's not goat hair extract, it's --" But Robin snaps her fingers before he can finish.
"Barney!" she says. "Shelby's mother-in-law has goats!"
"What?" Barney says. "How do you know?"
"I was stuck with Marshall and the wife for three hours while they were telling each other life stories from the Midwest," Robin says. "Believe me. I know."
"All right," Barney says, getting up from a lab stool and clapping his hands. "Robin, get Marshall, we're heading out. Ted, suit up already. I'm going to go tell the Director."
He hurries out. Robin rolls her eyes at Ted.
"I don't think suits would work with the studded collar, anyway," she says. "Or the boots."
Ted shrugs. "I think he mostly says it by reflex at this point."
****
The mother-in-law is apparently less on a family visit and more on a self-appointed mission to murder her possibly-cheating son-in-law and rob a few houses while she's at it. Also, she has her own criminal organization, although it's pretty minuscule.
"Where the hell did YOU come from?" One fifth of the organization gasps.
"Canada," Robin says, shifting her grip.
"I think he means more 'How come there wasn't a woman with a gun there a second ago'," Marshall says. "Don't blame yourself, she's CSIS."
"CSIS," the guy says. "What the hell is CSIS?"
"Canadian Security Intelligence Service," Barney says. "Hey, Marshall, is the one by you dead?"
Marshall crouches to check, keeping his gun trained on one other -- silent and staring -- fifth. "No, I think she just knocked him out."
"Canadian Se --" the first guy says. "Are you kidding me?"
"The best PR is no PR," Marshall says. "Also, maybe you should shut up now, I think you're annoying her."
****
"You'll have to get rid of the booth, Barney," Robin says. She's not even sure why they're all sitting around it right now. Sometimes she suspects Barney has some kind of mind control device, except if if he did, Ted would be suited up a lot more often. Unless Barney secretly likes Ted's clothes.
"True," Ted says. "He'll kill you if this is here when he's back."
"About that," Marshall says. "Have you noticed the boss' been acting kind of... bizarre lately? Like, you know. Marginally crazy?"
Barney points at him accusingly, finger right between Marshall's eyes. Marshall leans back a little. "You take that back, Ergeeksen! That man's my hero."
Robin snorts. "Relax. Marshall's just upset because he thinks he's been flirting with the Director."
"The Director?" Ted says. "She's way too young for him."
"Exactly!" Marshall says. "And I'm not upset. I just think it's inappropriate. Because she's way too young for him."
"I don't know," Robin says thoughtfully. "I've always suspected she's lying about her age somehow. A lot of surgery, maybe."
Barney looks at her witheringly. "Oh, Scherbatsky. When you're sitting right next to the master, why try make your own theories? The Director isn't lying about her age. Trust me, I know these things."
Robin shrugs. "Well, she's pretty damned young to be this high up."
Marshall looks off into the horizon dreamily. "I think she's just naturally good at telling people what to do."
"Back to the point," Ted says, waving his hand before Marshall's eyes until they focus again. "Nobody's crazy. Not even marginally." He considers the booth. "Well, maybe Barney."
"Hey!"
"Think about it," Marshall says, "He keeps going out in the middle of the day. This time he even left in the middle of a case. And I swear he tried to throw that plastic spear from the Puente case at Barney the other day."
Barney sulks. "That's just how he shows affection."
"Twice."
"Yes, exactly."
"Er," Robin says, thoughtfully, "He did give me this really strange speech about butterflies last week." They all turn to stare at her. "But I'm sure it didn't mean anything! Maybe it's an American thing."
"Oh," Ted says. "Yeah, he said something about butterflies in the lab a few days ago. I think he wanted to know if I could make butterfly bait or something? He seemed pretty worried."
Barney thumps the table with his palm. "This is mutiny!"
"It's not mutiny," Marshall says. "It's... maybe a butterfly intervention. Apparently. You don't think he was talking about Ted's tattoo, do you?"
"Maybe he's looking for a pet," Robin says. "Can you keep butterflies as pets?"
"I don't think so," Marshall says. "Maybe we could give him one of the goats."
"Huh," Barney says. "Actually, that might work."
Secondary inspiration:
(The pre-version that was discarded because, yes, it didn't make enough sense:
"Barney," Robin says, sliding into the booth.
Barney points a finger at her. "You're late, Scherbatsky."
She nods. "Yeah, the boss --"
Barney points again. "BUT you suited up. Points down, points up, you remain in the game."
Robin gives him a look. "Uh, thanks. Like I was trying to say, we have thirty minutes."
"Only need five," Barney says generously.
**
Ted sits down. "Seriously, guys, wouldn't it make more sense for me to show you this back at headquarters? You know? Where my lab is?"
"This is more homey," Marshall says. "We like it."
"Yeah, Ted," Robin says. "Loosen up. See, nobody's even staring at your collar anymore.")
Robin's looking at some papers when Barney slides into the opposite side of the booth.
She looks up. Barney's smiling innocently, which is always alarming.
"So," she says, "this was here when I came in."
Barney's smile widens.
"Also," Robin says, "a few minutes ago a woman came by and asked me if I wanted the house cocktail."
"Ah," Barney says. "Good choice there."
"Barney," Robin says, with great care and a mild amount of foreboding, "if I'd said yes, where exactly would she get the booze from?"
"I'm glad you asked, Scherbatsky!" He lifts his suitcase up onto the table and goes to open it, and Robin is fully expecting to see hundreds of very very tiny bottles, but he just gets out some folders and lays them in front of him without looking. "Dr. Stella has awesomely allowed me to put a personal crate in one of the unused units." He waggles his eyebrows at her.
Robin looks at him. "Barney. You put booze in the morgue?"
"I said an unused unit," Barney says dismissively. "It's not touching the bodies or anything. So, what did you choose?"
"Well, I said I was on the clock," Robin says patiently. "We agreed on coffee in the end. She didn't look too happy about it, though." A thought occurs. "Barney, will the milk come from the morgue?"
"Robin," Barney says, leaning forward towards her -- Robin is briefly torn between vaguely wanting to lean forward too and wanting to lean way back, or possibly just go somewhere else where the sane people live -- "You of all people aren't someone I'd expect to flinch from a little morgueiness in your morning coffee."
Robin frowns. Leaning back it is. "I'm not flinching. It's just that some things aren't right. How did you get this in here, anyway?"
Barney leans back too now, folding his arms and grinning smugly. "I've got moves with the Director."
This would be endlessly disturbing, except, "Yeah. Right."
The smugness shifts, but doesn't go away. "Also, I might have told her it was for a case." Robin keeps looking at him. "What? I paid for it with my own money."
"What about --" Robin starts, but Barney puts up a blocking hand hurriedly and says, "Don't say the name! Don't say the name! You know what happens!"
She can't refute that, and while Barney deserves to be caught -- and she can't imagine how he thinks he won't be -- this is kind of entertaining, in a trainwreck sort of way, as so many things with Barney are, so she nods at him to continue.
"He's out all day," Barney says. "Running Mysterious Errands. As Senior Field Officer, I say this is going to be -- wait for it --"
"I'm going to my computer now," Robin says, pointing at it and sliding out. The sliding is kind of fun, actually. Maybe she should get a booth at home.
"Legendary!" Barney says to her back. He probably high fives the air, too, but Robin's busy checking her email.
****
"So check this out," Marshall says, coming in. He's holding a cup that might have coffee underneath the small mountain of whipped cream, though there's no way to tell. "Apparently we got a budget boost or something, because we've got a tea lady now."
Barney frowns. "Wendy is a waitress," he says. "What the hell's a tea lady?"
"You know," Marshall says. He raises his cup in a salute; the whipped cream wobbles but, Robin's a bit disappointed to note, does not fall. "She makes coffee for us."
"That doesn't even make sense," Barney says disapprovingly. "You're just trying to dodge tipping."
Marshall blinks. "I was supposed to tip her?"
"You can do it when you leave," Barney says. He pats Marshall's shoulder reassuringly and heads out.
"Oh-kay," Marshall says. Robin raises her own coffee cup, no milk, at him. "Hey, why's there a diner booth in here?"
"I think it's a bar booth," Robin says. "Also, don't freak out, but I think your whipped cream might've come from the morgue."
"Really?" Marshall squints at the cup, then samples it. "No, it tastes fine. So did we get any word on the Shelby case?"
"Actually, yeah," Robin says. "Local police found a similar substance after a house robbery in the area, they sent it in this morning. Barney just went to the lab. I think."
Marshall blinks. "Now that I think about it," he says, "was he really holding a shot glass when he left?"
"There's no way to be sure," Robin says. "You know, maybe I'll go there too. Just in case."
****
"This," Ted says, "is awesome."
Barney beams. "What did I tell you? Home-made Caf-Pow. Carl's a genius."
"That shouldn't even be possible," Ted says. "You don't home-make soda." He takes a sip. "Awesome."
Robin peers at their sample. "I still don't get this. What would you gain from filling the keyhole with this stuff? They'd already got the door open."
Ted brightens up even more. "Oh, yeah. This is the weirdest thing I've seen -- well, this week. See this here?" He taps a screen, where a graph is showing some zigzag lines. "You know what this is? It's an enzyme found in -- mostly -- goat hair."
"Goat hair," Barney says. "Somebody put, what, goat hair extract in the keyhole of Seaman Shelby's door? And then robbed another house with it? Am I missing where this makes sense?"
"Well, it's not just the enzyme," Ted says. "And it's not goat hair extract, it's --" But Robin snaps her fingers before he can finish.
"Barney!" she says. "Shelby's mother-in-law has goats!"
"What?" Barney says. "How do you know?"
"I was stuck with Marshall and the wife for three hours while they were telling each other life stories from the Midwest," Robin says. "Believe me. I know."
"All right," Barney says, getting up from a lab stool and clapping his hands. "Robin, get Marshall, we're heading out. Ted, suit up already. I'm going to go tell the Director."
He hurries out. Robin rolls her eyes at Ted.
"I don't think suits would work with the studded collar, anyway," she says. "Or the boots."
Ted shrugs. "I think he mostly says it by reflex at this point."
****
The mother-in-law is apparently less on a family visit and more on a self-appointed mission to murder her possibly-cheating son-in-law and rob a few houses while she's at it. Also, she has her own criminal organization, although it's pretty minuscule.
"Where the hell did YOU come from?" One fifth of the organization gasps.
"Canada," Robin says, shifting her grip.
"I think he means more 'How come there wasn't a woman with a gun there a second ago'," Marshall says. "Don't blame yourself, she's CSIS."
"CSIS," the guy says. "What the hell is CSIS?"
"Canadian Security Intelligence Service," Barney says. "Hey, Marshall, is the one by you dead?"
Marshall crouches to check, keeping his gun trained on one other -- silent and staring -- fifth. "No, I think she just knocked him out."
"Canadian Se --" the first guy says. "Are you kidding me?"
"The best PR is no PR," Marshall says. "Also, maybe you should shut up now, I think you're annoying her."
****
"You'll have to get rid of the booth, Barney," Robin says. She's not even sure why they're all sitting around it right now. Sometimes she suspects Barney has some kind of mind control device, except if if he did, Ted would be suited up a lot more often. Unless Barney secretly likes Ted's clothes.
"True," Ted says. "He'll kill you if this is here when he's back."
"About that," Marshall says. "Have you noticed the boss' been acting kind of... bizarre lately? Like, you know. Marginally crazy?"
Barney points at him accusingly, finger right between Marshall's eyes. Marshall leans back a little. "You take that back, Ergeeksen! That man's my hero."
Robin snorts. "Relax. Marshall's just upset because he thinks he's been flirting with the Director."
"The Director?" Ted says. "She's way too young for him."
"Exactly!" Marshall says. "And I'm not upset. I just think it's inappropriate. Because she's way too young for him."
"I don't know," Robin says thoughtfully. "I've always suspected she's lying about her age somehow. A lot of surgery, maybe."
Barney looks at her witheringly. "Oh, Scherbatsky. When you're sitting right next to the master, why try make your own theories? The Director isn't lying about her age. Trust me, I know these things."
Robin shrugs. "Well, she's pretty damned young to be this high up."
Marshall looks off into the horizon dreamily. "I think she's just naturally good at telling people what to do."
"Back to the point," Ted says, waving his hand before Marshall's eyes until they focus again. "Nobody's crazy. Not even marginally." He considers the booth. "Well, maybe Barney."
"Hey!"
"Think about it," Marshall says, "He keeps going out in the middle of the day. This time he even left in the middle of a case. And I swear he tried to throw that plastic spear from the Puente case at Barney the other day."
Barney sulks. "That's just how he shows affection."
"Twice."
"Yes, exactly."
"Er," Robin says, thoughtfully, "He did give me this really strange speech about butterflies last week." They all turn to stare at her. "But I'm sure it didn't mean anything! Maybe it's an American thing."
"Oh," Ted says. "Yeah, he said something about butterflies in the lab a few days ago. I think he wanted to know if I could make butterfly bait or something? He seemed pretty worried."
Barney thumps the table with his palm. "This is mutiny!"
"It's not mutiny," Marshall says. "It's... maybe a butterfly intervention. Apparently. You don't think he was talking about Ted's tattoo, do you?"
"Maybe he's looking for a pet," Robin says. "Can you keep butterflies as pets?"
"I don't think so," Marshall says. "Maybe we could give him one of the goats."
"Huh," Barney says. "Actually, that might work."
Secondary inspiration:
(The pre-version that was discarded because, yes, it didn't make enough sense:
"Barney," Robin says, sliding into the booth.
Barney points a finger at her. "You're late, Scherbatsky."
She nods. "Yeah, the boss --"
Barney points again. "BUT you suited up. Points down, points up, you remain in the game."
Robin gives him a look. "Uh, thanks. Like I was trying to say, we have thirty minutes."
"Only need five," Barney says generously.
**
Ted sits down. "Seriously, guys, wouldn't it make more sense for me to show you this back at headquarters? You know? Where my lab is?"
"This is more homey," Marshall says. "We like it."
"Yeah, Ted," Robin says. "Loosen up. See, nobody's even staring at your collar anymore.")