like gravity: himym (barney/robin, ensemble)
Title: Like Gravity
Author: the_spin
Spoilers: through the end of the 4th season
Words: 9435
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: not mine.
AN: shortish post-finale fic, Barney POV is fucking hard.
Summary: Five summertime slips.
1.) April 26th
“Okay, so. Maybe we didn’t think this one through.”
Marshall shakes his head, grunts a little as he throws his weight into shoving the hot tub cover across the lip of the wall. He’s not giving up on paradise that easily. One more massive shove and plastic thuds dully onto glossy hardwood deck; they wince collectively at the sound. “No. No way. Try the door again.”
Ted jiggles the handle and… nothing. “I told you, it’s locked.”
Robin sighs heavily, and Barney can’t help smiling to himself as she looks forlornly at the huge cooler of leftover beer just visible over the wall of their own roof. “So much for being impulsive.”
“No!” The snap of his voice makes them all glance back as Marshall triumphantly flips the power switch; the tub bubbles to life with an inviting whir. “Guys, this is tonight, the night that anything is possible.” He straightens up to his full, yeti-esque height, casts a glance around the roof. His eyes narrow with determination. “Give me five minutes, and we’ll get this party started!”
And with that he strides to the edge of the roof and swings his legs over the side.
“Fire escape,” Lily says. “Who knew?
-
Barney knows his parties, as any good bro should. An encyclopedic knowledge of the typical demographics, social mores, and level of inebriation for any potential destination is invaluable when planning an awesome night on the town. His research on the subject is extensive; after all, he’s determined to finish writing his definitive guide to hooking up by the time he turns forty. Not sharing his expertise with the rest of the world would be a crime. He’s already published several well-received blog posts on the subject, including last year’s ‘Foam Parties, Wet T-Shirt Contests, and the Alcohol-to-Water-to-Clothing Equation: A Primer.”
If he had to rank parties by their potential for awesomeness, a hot tub party that no one planned for would be very near the top of his list. Maybe just below invite-only erotic exploration parties, just above 21st birthdays at skeezy clubs in downtown Manhattan. No arguing with it; his ranking methodology is highly scientific and has totally been validated by several panels of experts. “So, hot tub.” Maybe he’s grinning a little too wide. “Which of you ladies needs help taking your top off? I’m very handy with a zipper.”
Lily punches his shoulder, but the pain doesn’t stop him from noticing Robin’s barely suppressed chuckle. Worth it.
-
By the time Marshall reappears over the side of the roof with two bottles shoved awkwardly into his pockets (‘Tequila!’ Robin exclaims. ‘My hero!’), the rest of them have stripped down to their makeshift bathing suits, also known as underwear, and are lounging happily in the Jacuzzi. Lily made them all avert their eyes when she stepped into the water but Robin’s strapless bra is delightfully see-through when wet, so that makes up for any missed opportunities in Barney’s book. He keeps waiting for her to yell at him for staring at her chest, but when he finally manages to drag his eyes back up to her face, her gaze is fixed steadily on a point somewhere around his sternum.
He grins and leans against the wall, slides elbows back to provide the best possible viewing angle. Moments like these are why he wakes up at five AM every day to hit the gym before work, hell yeah.
Ted sighs from his right, slides farther down into the water as he takes a swig from the bottle and looks up at the starless sky. “Lily’s right. I’m gonna do it. I’ll take the job. It can’t be any worse than being broke, right?”
Everything is quiet besides the bubbling of the tub, that sort of warm nighttime silence that only happens on rooftops during the summer.“Professor Mosby,” Lily says contemplatively. “I like the sound of that.”
Barney just nods absently, because obviously Ted was gonna take the job. It was only a matter of time because no one ever choses to stay broke, and Robin’s bra isn’t getting any less transparent. If he squints he can just make out the outline of her nipple, and maybe even a freckle and-
but then chlorine stings in his eyes as a wall of water slaps into his skin. He sputters, wipes it away, and looks up to see Robin smirking triumphantly at him. “Well, that got your attention.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you had my attention,” and that makes her splash him again, and then he splashes back but his aim sucks and he gets Marshall full in the face instead and it all devolves from there, at least until Lily shrieks when Barney kicks her in the shin escaping from Ted and Robin, who were possibly trying to murder him by holding his head under the surface.
“Stop, guys,” and Lily’s breathless with laughter as she shoves the three of them back to their side of the tub. “You’re killing my knees, here.”
There’s a pause, and then- “No mercy,” Marshall shouts as he lunges into the fray, and this time Ted’s the one that shrieks.
A clang echoes across the rooftop. “Hey! Who’s out there?” They follow the sound, and Barney can just make out the silhouette of a man hanging out the window on the corner of the building.
“Uh,” Ted stutters, and Barney elbows him as hard as he can. “We’re friend’s of… Jim’s.”
“Who?”
“Tim?”- at the same time Marshall shouts, a little too desperately, ‘Rick, we’re friends of Rick!”
“Okay,” the guy says, pulling back into his apartment. “I’m calling the cops.”
-
They’re halfway down the fire escape when Barney realizes. “My suit!” It’s pure instinct: he starts scrambling back up the ladder and collides handily with Robin’s bare legs.
“Dude! We all left our clothes, just keep moving!”
“Go back up,” he hisses and Robin throws an exasperated look at the others over his shoulder, but turns around and starts climbing in spite of it. She’s a good friend.
He’s carefully folding his silk Gucci tie across the rest of the suit draped over his arm when Robin curses, stumbles back from where she was peering over the ledge. “Cops! They saw me.” She darts to the door, pulls the handle uselessly. “Great. Because I really wanted to get hauled into the police station for trespassing, tonight.”
But thankfully some careless soul left the stairwell window unlatched; they lever it open, though he’s maybe less helpful because he’s carefully holding his suit away from his damp skin, and squeeze through. The air-conditioning hits in a blast; he can hear Robin’s teeth chattering as he follows her down the stairs.
They hit the ground floor and he reaches for the door handle, but she grabs his arm, pulls him back. “Wait, they were going into the lobby! They’re probably still there.” She casts around, eyes light on a padlocked door to their right, and it’s all very secret agent and kind of indescribably hot. “Storage closet!”
Barney pulls the pin off his crumpled tie and shoves it into the keyhole, starts working the tumbler.
“Since when can you pick locks?” she says over his shoulder.
He scoffs. “Did you or did you not witness my daring underwater escape from handcuffs and like twenty pounds of chains?” He twists his wrist, but the tumbler sticks stubbornly. He tries again.
‘You’re doing it wrong.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Not!”
“You really, really are,” she snaps as the door from the roof swings open somewhere above them; the clang echoes down through the stairwell. Suddenly there are cold, wet palms on his shoulder blades, and she shoves him out of the way.
He glares at the back of her damp hair. “Like you would even know!”
“Please,” she mutters, intent on the padlock. “We had a chain just like this at home on my mother’s liquor cabinet.”
He can hear feet tripping down the stairs above them as he rolls his eyes. “Hurry up!”
“Shut up for five seconds and I will.” She groans in frustration when the pin sticks; Robin pulls it out, tries again. “Damn it. This is your fault, you know.”
“Let me!”
“I’ve got it, okay?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” and maybe he’s clutching at her elbow because the footfalls are getting closer and he really can’t go to jail again, he’s way too pretty and-
But then the lock clicks open and Robin is ripping off the chain and pulling him through the door; they stumble, and his suit slips out of his grasp and somehow he ends up sandwiched between her and a shelf of cleaning products. “Took you long enough, geeze,” he pants with as much acid as he can muster, but then it’s all reflex and his mouth is on hers and her clammy hands are clutching at the back of his neck as they press together, all goosebumped skin and damp, clinging boxers.
Barney really likes the way she kisses, messy but not too messy. Lots of tongue. It feels hot and dirty and desperate, always a favorite; he grins against her mouth as her fingers clench into his ass. Wraps arms around to drag her closer, grinds his hips into hers through the thin barrier of their underwear. Their stomachs brush together, apart, together again and she tenses up; before he can really register it she’s got a leg wrapped tight around the back of his knee.
Her soft moan vibrates against the shell of his ear, and she’s rocking her hips reflexively against his thigh as his lips slide down to her neck. “Oh fuck it,” and her hands slip away from his body. He’s about to protest the absence but then he feels the soft whump of fabric onto his toes.
Barney breaks away, looks down in confusion; there’s a pair of black cotton panties crumpled on top of his bare foot. She’s busy shoving his boxers down and then he snaps back into it, hooks suddenly clumsy fingers into the band of her bra to tug it down around her waist. Then her hands are warm on his face and her lips are on his again, and he goes all foggy, get lost somewhere between the feel of her breasts pressing into his chest and the taste of her tongue and the brush of her thigh across his dick.
It’s all kind of blowing his mind until she manages to kick his legs out from under him and he lands on his ass, hard. “That’s going to fucking bruise.”
The stairwell stays silent, and in his brief moment of pain-induced-clarity he really hopes that the insane landlord gave up the chase and went back to bed. He groans, for effect.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Robin says, breath hot against his cheek as she tries to untangle her legs from his own, leverages herself up over his chest. His hands skim up to settle around her waist of their own volition and then she slides down onto him way too fast, and it’s hot and tight and even more awesome than he remembers.
Her fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulders as she starts to moves against his hips, rolling and grinding unevenly. He tries to get a hold on himself, ignores his own thready breathing as he presses up on an elbow to wrap an arm around her back. Digs his heels into the floor to help her set their fast, sloppy rhythm.
Her eyes stay closed, forehead furrowed with determination and suddenly, more than anything, Barney wants her to look at him. To look at his face, look him in the eyes and- where the hell did that come from? He shakes it off, pulls her down to his mouth; when her teeth scrape his bottom lip his stomach twists a little at the sting, at the faint metallic tang of blood.
It ends embarrassingly fast for both of them; when he comes his head cracks back onto linoleum so hard his vision blurs for a second. Her thighs are still trembling a little against the jut of his hip bones, rubbing the tiniest bit against the fingers he he’s got shoved between their bodies. He lets knuckles trail along the rise of her spine, closes his eyes in the post-orgasm/possible-concussion haze and takes stock as awareness of the rest of the world starts seeping back in.
His back is gonna be fucked tomorrow, as much as he hates to admit it, but that’s par for the course after you get half your bones ground into gravel. Banging chicks on freezing-ass tile floors just isn’t what it used to be; damn buses and casts and Ted and his stupid Murtaugh list.
“Whoops,” Robin finally mutters into his collarbone, and that makes him chuckle. He forces his eyes open, gives in to impulse and strokes her hair the tiniest bit. It’s a weird feeling, her so heavy and warm on top of him and the floor so fucking cold below. Robin shakes his hands off, sits up but the shift of her weight along his pelvis sends a jolt down to his toes and he follows her helplessly, tries to steal one more kiss before she comes to her senses.
But her eyes widen with alarm, fix instead on the floor just behind him. “Barney, your suit.”
-
It’s ruined, no getting around it. He’s seen his drycleaner work miracles before, but a chlorine soaking plus getting ground into a storage closet floor that hasn’t been cleaned since the Reagan era? No coming back from that.
“Well.” Robin lays a comforting hand on his forearm. “At least it went out with a bang.”
He grins weakly. “Hey-o.”
One foot lifts, then the other as she steps back into her underwear, reaches down to pull on his beaten-up shirt as he tugs on his slacks. He can’t help but stare at the reddening bite marks tracing her throat as she tugs her hair out over the collar, and when she catches his eye a surge of terror wells up. Because even though that was far from the best sex he’s ever had, it felt great in a way he’s never really felt before, and Barney kind of likes his life just the way it is. He loves her, sure, and he feels so much better now that he’s said it out loud, but the idea of anything else makes his insides seize up with panic.
Robin’s still staring at him, looking like she wants to say something but she doesn’t quite know what. She lifts a hand awkwardly, drops it down again. “Later?” she says finally.
The surge of relief is unexpectedly intense. “Later,” and then they push out of the storage closet, sneak their way down the hall and out on the pavement.
When they make it back to the apartment, Lily looks expectedly smug.
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In a weird way, Barney gets Lily’s whole Front Porch thing. Not that he thinks about the future all the time, no way. That’s fucking lame. Barney Stinson lives in the moment, for the moment. Ahead of the moment, even. Planning out your life is for the Teds of the world, not for him.
But ever since he met Ted and Marshall and Lily, it’s been hard not to picture them still together somewhere down the line, which is simultaneously strange and a tiny bit reassuring. He thinks about it in rare moments of weakness, of Thanksgivings twenty years from now after Lily and Marshall and Ted have inevitably descended into married-settled-loserdom and popped out a truckload of kids.
He’ll roll in, cool Uncle Barney, President and CEO of BarneyCorp and inspiration to Bros everywhere. Maybe with a hot Swedish nurse on his arm, and he’ll eat Lily’s amazing maple-glazed turkey and they’ll all drink beers and laugh as he tries to undo all the damage done by his friends’ sappy, touchy-feely parenting. He figures he got to Ted, Marshall, and Lily way too late, but the kids have a fighting chance if he’s around for their formative years.
Somewhere along the line, Robin started popping up at future Thanksgiving, too. He’s not really sure when it started, and he doesn’t question it because he’s not that kind of guy. Anyway, Future-Thanksgiving-Robin is totally awesome, breezing in from some far corner of the globe with a dude twenty years her junior. He never even for a minute thinks of her as Ted’s future wife, even after they’ve been dating for months. That one was doomed to fail; Robin’s always been a cougar in the making. Barney would know; he can recognize his own.
It doesn’t even register when cougar-Robin starts showing up at Thanksgiving alone instead of toting a hot, accented boy-toy. Barney doesn’t get it, not until he’s on the edge of sleep after his first victory-bang two days after he gets out of rehab, when future-Thanksgiving-Robin leans in after dessert and presses a kiss to his temple.
He bolts upright, and the girl next to him moans from underneath a pile of untidy black hair and tangled bedding. “Why is the room spinning?”
Barney ignores her, escapes into the bathroom. Turns on the tap, splashes water onto his face, and oh god, something is seriously wrong.
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2.) June 14th
Later never happens, and before he knows it he’s wiping sweat off the back of his neck at Stuart and Claudia’s courtyard barbecue as he prays for sunset or an excuse to leave, whichever comes first.
“I never thought I’d say this,” Robin mumbles around an enthusiastic mouthful of hot dog, “but I really hate that Stuart decided to get clean.”
“You and me both,” and he swirls the very non-alcoholic fruit punch in his red plastic cup. “I can’t believe we didn’t come prepared! Party Rule Number One: always carry your own personal stash in case provisions run low! Or in case they aren’t serving underage girls.”
She rolls her eyes, but he can tell that she’s trying not to smile. “Yesterday you said party rule number one was ‘make sure at least 50 percent of the guests are single before accepting the E-vite.”
“Fine. You want it to be Party Rule Number Two, it’s Party Rule Number Two.”
“I’m just asking for a little consistency here.”
“Yeah, well, consistency is for losers.”
Robin revs up a little at that, he can tell, opens her mouth again and his pulse jumps a little at the anticipation of an argument. But then suddenly Marshall’s there between them, clapping them each on the shoulder so hard that Barney feels the vibration in his feet.
“Guys, they have horseshoes! Tournament time!”
“Hell yeah!” Robin hops a little with excitement, any protests about party rules forgotten in the anticipation of competition. “I call Marshall on my team.”
“Hey! You can’t call someone for your team; you have to wait until the designated team-picking… time. Or do the rules of sportsmanship not apply in Canada?”
Her answering scowl is pretty spectacular. “Says the guy who called the last doughnut yesterday, before I even went to get them. Sorry buddy, I’m still calling Marshall.”
“Marshall,” Marshall says loudly, cutting off Barney’s retort, “is on Lily’s team. You guys are the scrappy underdog challengers. Now seriously, hurry up and finish your hot dogs so you can get your asses handed to you.”
They watch Marshall’s retreating back, and Barney groans a little. “Well, crap.”
She sighs in agreement. “We’re doomed,” and shoves the last of the crumbling hot dog bun in her mouth, wipes her hands resolutely on her jeans. “God, I wish I had a beer right now.”
“Fucking Stuart,” he mutters, and they trudge off to face inevitable annihilation.
-
They do indeed get royally trounced, in spite of an impressive show of Canadian-style-trash-talking courtesy of Robin. As Ted and the rest of the onlookers laugh heartily at Marshall and Lily’s intricately choreographed victory dance, Barney and Robin slink off to lick their wounds.
He’s contemplating escaping to the liquor store on the corner and chugging a six-pack en route back to the party when Robin’s fingers slip loosely around his wrist as she leans in conspiratorially. “I have cigarettes,” and god, those are maybe the three most awesome words in the English language right now.
Claudia narrows eyes at them when Robin pulls the pack out of her purse, so they wind up in the bathroom just off the building lobby, crowded into a stall as they blow streams of smoke out the window. “Air-conditioning,” Robin sighs blissfully, leaning into the sill. “It’s too fucking hot in this city. Heat waves make people do stupid things. Murders always spike in the summer, you know.”
“Don’t knock New York for having seasons that last longer than a week. Normal people enjoy weather that doesn’t require a parka.” He watches her face, takes another drag. He hasn’t had a cigarette in forever. “I take it quitting didn’t stick.”
“Yet again,” she finishes, and opens her eyes to smile at him and he’s pretty sure that look right there is why so many guys fall in love with her. He kind of wishes he knew what it meant. “I tried but- well. We’ve all got our vices.”
He can’t help grinning at her. “I fully support the indulgence of vices,” and she snorts mid-inhale so hard she ends up coughing into her hand.
“Yeah, you’re like, the Duke of vices.”
“Uh, Chancellor of vices. Please.”
“Arch-bishop of vices!”
“Prince of vices, what up?”
Her eyes light up. “Vice President!” and he laughs, delighted, turns to give her the requisite high five and miscalculates the distance (totally an accident) just as she shifts her weight and they end up nearly nose-to-nose. He’s not quite sure who leans in; all he knows is that his mouth goes dry when he tastes the hint of menthol on her lips. He drops the burned down stub of his cigarette, reaches blindly for her shoulder.
“Robin?” and she jolts away; Barney’s back slams into the curve of the exposed plumbing. Motherfucker.
Robin’s hurriedly wiping her mouth, unlatching the door of the stall. “Lily! Hey!” and he’s a little impressed at how cool she sounds through the haze of fucking vertebrae-pain.
Their friend frowns, sniffs the air. “You guys were smoking.” She sounds a bit disappointed.
“Yup, you caught us,” Barney moans weakly, and Robin shoots him a look that he interprets as ‘say anything else and you die.’
“They just brought out cake; I thought you’d want to know. It’s chocolate.”
“Thanks, Lily,” Robin says a little tightly, stubs out Barney’s cigarette with her heel. “I think I’m heading out, though. See you guys,” and then she’s out the door before either of them can answer.
Lily purses her lips for a second, then draws back and punches his arm with way more strength than a tiny person should legitimately have.
“What the hell?!”
“I’m just assuming.” But then she steps in, wraps arms around and hugs him tightly. Barney blows out a breath into her hair because this shit is way too confusing for a Saturday afternoon. He wraps an arm around and hugs her back, lets himself enjoy it for a second. Then he shakes his head, shakes it off when she pulls away and pats his arm reassuringly. Weekends are not for confusion. Weekends are for awesoming.
This seems like an excellent time to go find out whether or not that girl wearing the green bikini top is into firefighters. No, maybe surgeons. Barney squints, hits on it. Doctors Without Borders.
Yeah, he’s a fucking genius.
3.) July 23rd
“I can’t do this. Why did I think I could do this? Barney, why did I think I could do this?”
He’s sitting with a wild-eyed Ted on the couch, surrounded by what Barney suspects is every single book from the Architecture section of the New York Public Library. He came over here to try and coax Ted down to the bar, but Ted looked so pitiful that he somehow let himself get roped into playing stenographer. They’ve spent the past two hours making a list of the pros and cons of each book for inclusion in Ted’s syllabus and okay, Ted is his best bro and everything, but fifteen more minutes of this and Barney might stab the pen he’s holding into his own jugular, just to escape. “You can do this, man. You’re gonna be a kickass professor. And it’s not like any of them are going to do the reading, anyway.”
“Oh god, don’t say that,” Ted moans, drops his face into his hands. “I can’t believe I’m gonna have to go through all this stuff. I can’t assign a reading if I haven’t done it myself! And lectures. I don’t know how to write a lecture!”
“You’re gonna be fine,” and just then Robin walks in, drops her keys onto the coffee table amid the stacks of books.
“Uh oh, crisis of confidence, I take it.” Barney nods the tiniest bit, as much as he can without Ted noticing, and she gestures for the legal pad. He hands it over with a relieved sigh and she pages quickly through the list. “Okay Ted, this is what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna go through this list, and you’re gonna circle the twenty top books. And then you’re going to go to sleep and we’ll talk about it in the morning, okay?”
“Robin, I can’t just-“ but she cuts him off with a glare, and he swallows. “Okay.”
-
So they set Ted up at his drafting table, pat him reassuringly on the back, and sneak into the kitchen to grab beers.
“Thank god you got here when you did,” and he tosses her the opener after he pops the cap off his bottle.
She shrugs. “It’s been like this all week.”
He opens his mouth, closes it, because this is the first time he’s been semi-alone with her in weeks and his brain is kicking in with all kinds of questions about talking and feelings and she’s just looking at him, calm and unreadable and all normal-regular-Robin. And this, this right here is why he’s been trying to not be in this situation. It makes his head hurt and the last thing he wants to do is talk. In his experience, talking sucks.
It’s too quiet here and god, if he stays in this kitchen something’s going to slip out. “Want to go down to the bar?”
She lifts a shoulder non-commitally. “I was just there.”
“So? It’s the bar. We’re there all the time.”
“I don’t want bar-fatigue, Barney. Getting sick of MacLaren’s would be like, the worst thing ever. I’m trying to pace myself.”
He huffs playfully, because whatever, she’s crazy and he kind of loves fighting with her. “Like it’s possible to get sick of MacLaren’s, the most awesome bar in the Universe.”
“It might be. Bar-fatigue is a real thing. Look it up. I’m just saying, I don’t want to risk it.”
“Oh my god,” Ted mutters from the living room. “Will you two just-“ and then breaks off, snaps his mouth shut. “Could you please take it somewhere else?”
Robin flushes, and Barney frowns a little at her, not quite sure what’s going on. “I- have to do laundry,” she says quickly, and disappears into her bedroom.
-
He gives up on Ted and is on his way down to the bar, nearly out the door, when he hesitates. Pushes back, takes the stairs to the basement instead. Robin’s alone at the row of laundry machines, throwing her clothes into the top-loader with a lot more force than necessary.
He hesitates a moment before crossing the room, watches her as he tries to ignore the tug low in his gut. “You really shouldn’t mix delicate fabrics in with jeans like that.”
Her snort is audible, but she doesn’t turn around. The lid slams shut and she jabs the wash selection with satisfaction.“Your fixation with clothing is a little weird.”
“I’m just saying, they make different wash cycles for a reason.”
“At least I separated out the whites this time, right?”
The shudder that tickles down his spine is totally involuntary. “You don’t usually?” and that makes her laugh. He’s drawn in, he can’t help it, and then he’s so close that she stops chuckling. “You need a laundry service, seriously. This is breaking my heart. Those poor, innocent blouses.”
“Like it’s any of your business,” she scoffs, but she’s grinning and and she’s got that look in her eyes, that challenging, frustrated look, and he knows that’s his cue to lean in because maybe he doesn’t really understand how to navigate the whole feelings thing, but he gets this. Sometimes he feels like this kind of stuff is the only stuff he gets at all.
And when her arms wrap around his waist just like he’s anticipating, he grins triumphantly into her lips.
-
The washing machine buzzes, startles him out of his post-coital fascination with the nape of her neck. She scrubs a hand over her face, curses softly. When he steps back from where he has her pinned against the dryer she turns without meeting his eyes, reaches down to pull her sweatpants back up.
He snaps off the condom, starts buckling his belt as he tries to convince himself that it doesn’t really matter if she’s thinks fucking him was a mistake because hey, he still got to nail her, right? But as she starts pulling her laundry out of the machine, tossing it into the dryer, he gives up the pretense. Because it does matter, and it’s Robin, and it’s making him feel like shit. He scrubs a hand through his hair, starts trying to figure out how to apologize when she says-
“This isn’t fair to you.”
Barney blinks. “What?”
She sighs, turns to face him. “We opened the hook- up floodgates. But you want a serious relationship, and I- we shouldn’t do this stuff if you want that. It’s not fair.”
The panic kicks in, a bone-deep reflex loop. “Relationship?” he squeaks. “Who said anything about a relationship? Please, Robin. I in no way said anything about a relationship, ever. That’s not how the Barnacle rolls. Please.” Is he breaking out in hives?
She squints at him. “You really did.”
“I totally did not, ever. Maybe I said that I possibly have some feelings for you. Maybe. But I definitely did not propose any kind of monogamous arrangement.” He makes his most serious face. “No way. Not possible.”
The tension is bleeding out of her features. “You’re such a liar,” but she looks a thousand times lighter, and mostly sort of amused. “Right,” and she feeds quarters into the dryer. “Okay, I’ve got an hour to kill.” She eyes him carefully, half-smile twitching at her cheek. “Want to go grab a milkshake?”
-
After milkshakes are obtained from the diner five blocks down (chocolate for him and pistachio for her, which must be some weird Canadian thing), they meander slowly back towards the apartment. He shoots a glance over just as she slurps loudly through her straw, and the sudden well of affection takes him completely by surprise.
“Poor Ted,” she’s saying, but the way the words come out tell him she’s just talking to fill any potential uncomfortable silences. “He’s really Tedding out over this whole thing; I don’t think he’s slept in four days.”
“Yeah, unsurprising,” but he’s not really thinking about that and Ted’s always Tedding out about something, anyway. No, Barney’s feeling weirdly even right now, like all his shit just makes sense and he doesn’t need to cover for anything. Like maybe he’s starting to understand where she’s coming from. “I’ll always be your friend, you know that, right?”
When he looks over she’s squinting at him, like she’s worried that he’s maybe having a stroke or something. “What?”
“I’m just saying. Bros for life, no matter what happens. That’s the code.”
“Why are you-“ and she stops walking right in the middle of the pavement, eyes widening. “Oh god, are you sick or something?”
“Am I- what the hell is wrong with you? No!”
She winces, sighs. “Okay, sorry. It’s just… it’s weird when you get nice all of a sudden like that.” Her hand comes up to wipe a dribble of shake off her chin. “Not that I think you’re- never mind.”
Barney screws up his mouth, tries not to be insulted and focuses his attention back to his milkshake instead. He sneaks another glance, and she’s watching him through her lashes.
“So,” and her tone is light again, jovial. “You’d still hang with me if I got a perm and married an accountant and had ten kids and moved to Cleveland?”
He chews his straw, glares at her a little. “I’m an accountant,” and oh, totally worth it for the spilt second of sheer panic on her face; it’s so delicious he can’t keep it going for longer than that before he breaks. “Geeze Scherbatsky, you’re so easy.” That makes her laugh, and he has to tug on her elbow to keep her from getting bowled over by a couple of evening joggers. “And yes, I would still hang with you.”
“Good to know,” she says with mock-solemnity, but there’s a funny, happy look on her face that wasn’t there before. She bumps him with a hip, leans in the tiniest bit. “I’m gonna need someone awesome around to help me bust out of the nursing home when I’m eighty.”
“I am the master of escapes,” he agrees, and that probably shouldn’t make him feel as good as it does. He skips ahead, dodges backwards around the lamppost. “Lots of experience. If you ever need help slipping out of a fourth floor walk-up while the dude you just banged is showering and you’re, you know, tied naked to the headboard, I’m your guy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” and even though she rolls her eyes, she totally accepts the fist bump.
All things considered, Barney’s having a pretty good night. But he knows something that’ll make it even better. “Hey, want to go make Ted crazy some more? Maybe he’ll finally give up and go to bed.”
Robin grins at him. “A couple rounds of Guitar Hero should do the trick.”
4.) August 17th
“You’re screwing this up,” Lily says from across the booth, and Barney barely looks up from his Blackberry. He has a text from Jennifer, and it looks like all systems are primed for a possible Friday night booty-call. A player’s gotta stay ahead of the game.
“Screwing is never a bad thing, Lily.” He holds out his hand, doesn’t stop scrolling through his email until Marshall’s let the high-five hang for about five seconds too long. “Dude, what?”
“With Robin,” she hisses furtively, looking around like she’s worried someone’s gonna overhear which is kind of ridiculous since Robin left for work fifteen minutes ago. “You are massively, massively screwing this up and not at all in the good way, Barney.” She lays a hand on Marshall’s arm and nods solemnly at him, and then Marshall reaches into his jacket, pulls out a crumpled piece of notebook paper with a flourish and shoves it into Barney’s face.
“Ishcontention?”
”INTERVENTION,” and now Marshall’s hissing too and seriously, when did MacLaren’s bar talk become Cone-Of-Silence level confidential?
“I’m sorry, but there’s no way that says ‘Intervention.”
“Wha- it totally does!”
“Nope, no way in” -but then Lily throws a hand between them.
“Marshall’s handwriting is very unique. Like Picasso,” and Barney just rolls his eyes as Marshall shoots an adoring smile down at his wife.
“Look, I don’t even know what this is about, but it’s already the lamest intervention in the history of ever. You guys couldn’t even spring for the banner?” He shoots her his most pathetic look, the one he uses on chicks that look like they might be the mothering type. “I’m hurt.”
He doesn’t quite catch what Marshall mumbles, leans in closer. Lily sighs, swirls her drink guiltily. “Okay, maybe Ted vetoed and said we couldn’t use the banner for this one. He’s holding it hostage.”
“So this isn’t even official?”
Lily leans forward. “Think of it as an improvised emergency situation, okay? This is serious.” She and Marshall glance at each other again, back at him. “You can’t keep doing what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?”
Marshall raises an eyebrow. “What you’re doing is getting into a fight with Robin at the jukebox about whether ‘Sussudido’ or ‘Something in the Air Tonight’ is the more annoying Phil Collins song, disappearing upstairs for twenty minutes, and then coming back down here with lipstick on your neck.”
“Oh,” and Barney tries not to grin, reaches up absently to wipe the offending smudge from under his chin. “That.” He holds up a fist. “In that case, I request a tap. A tap for tapping that, what up?”
Lily slaps at his hand. “No tap! This is worst idea in the history of your bad ideas, Barney. If you ever want her to take you seriously, you can’t pretend that you don’t care about this stuff.”
He squints. “What did Ted think?”
“Ted thinks we should leave you guys alone,” and Marshall winces when Lily ‘s elbow connects with his ribs. “What, it’s true!”
“Well, Ted is wrong.” Lily reaches across the table, lays fingers gently on Barney’s hand. “Look, I know this is hard for you, but you can’t tell her how you feel and then pretend like it doesn’t matter if you ever want this to go anywhere. You need to talk to her.”
Barney’s heart kicks up a notch. “Look, I… can’t. This is better than nothing.” He grips his tumbler, tosses the rest of his scotch back. “If I talk to her, she’s just gonna say no. We all know that.”
“I’m not so sure,” and Marshall pulls out a pen, starts drawing lines on his napkin. “If we plot the number of times Robin’s willingly hooked up with you against the amount of time she spends hanging out with you-“ but then Lily snatches the napkin away, starts tearing it into little pieces. “Lily, come on! One time, just one time!”
“I’m sorry, baby. But it’s for your own good.”
“Look, I know what you’re saying,” Barney interrupts. “But that’s not- that’s just Robin when she’s riled up. She doesn’t feel that way. I thought maybe she did, but she doesn’t, and it’s cool. I’m fine with it. I am awesome with it.”
Marshall takes Lily’s hand, squeezes it. “Okay, buddy. Just, think about it, will you?”
-
And weirdly enough, he does think about it. Thinking about things isn’t usually something Barney’s a fan of as it often cuts down on his overall level of psych-itude, but this time he can’t help it. He can’t help thinking about today, about how they laughed all the way through and how Robin grinned as she watched him get dressed again. How she threw a pillow at him when he gave her his sleaziest wink.
How she put her hand on his tie and kissed him on her way to the shower.
He pulls out his phone, flips it open and scrolls through his texts. Stares at the one from Jennifer for a long moment, and finally hits ‘Delete.’
5.) September 3rd
Slowly but surely, the city cools down. The humidity lifts, the breezes roll in again. The Friday Ted’s supposed to start teaching dawns bright and clear, cool enough that they’re all wearing jackets when they meet up for a good-luck lunch at his favorite Italian place in midtown.
Ted silently freaks out all through the appetizers, but by the time the entrees come out they’ve gotten a little wine in him and he doesn’t look quite so green anymore. Marshall raises a glass to ‘Ted Mosby, Adjunct Professor of Awesome at Columbia Awesome University,” and they all cheer loudly enough that the hostess glares back at them from her podium.
“You’re going to be so amazing,” Lily tells him. “From one teacher to another, I swear. You’re going to kick ass and expand some minds.”
“Hear, hear,” Barney says, grins across the table. “You’ll show those brats who’s boss. You need any help with the smartasses, I’m there.”
“They’re grad students, dude,” but Ted still doesn’t look totally reassured. “It’s not like teaching high school.”
Robin passes him a breadstick, winks across the table. “Don’t worry, it’s ‘History of Western Architecture.’ That’s the kind of class everyone sleeps through, anyway.”
“I hate you guys,” he says but he’s laughing, and they all grin at each other. Mission ‘Loosen Ted Up’ accomplished. “Seriously though, thank you. You’ve all been amazing.”
“Nothing you wouldn’t do for us, bro,” and they all nod in agreement and this is one of those times Barney just feels right, like everything fits in the world. Robin catches his eye over the rim of her wine glass, smiles at him. “Really Ted, you’ll do great.”
When it’s time for him to go, they all linger on the pavement a moment. Ted sighs, grins as he hefts his briefcase. “Okay. I’m doing this.”
“Oh, fuck it,” Marshall says, and pulls them all in for a hug right there in the middle of the street.
-
Marshall and Lily head downtown, a little tearfully, but Barney’s pretty much done with everything important for the day so he blows off going back to Goliath, sends a text to his assistant telling him to forward anything important to his email. Instead he ends up walking back toward 75th with Robin, and she doesn’t even make fun of him when he makes her stop at Jamba Juice.
They wind up back at the apartment, sipping their $7 fruit punch and debating whether or not to put on one of her John Woo movies. But then there’s a rerun of yesterday's Sports Night on and Barney gives up any movie as a lost cause when they start talking about hockey.
He pops off the couch to get a beer, and when he turns around to ask whether she wants one- she’s there standing behind him, like half a foot away.
“Hey,” she starts, and nods when he holds up a beer questioningly. “So, Casey is clearly the better sports anchor. You can’t deny it. Did you hear that toss? That was pure professionalism.”
He frowns a little. “Casey is lame. You know this. Dan is king of sports.”
“I’m just saying, I’m coming around on Casey. He knows his hockey. Any man that supports the Canucks can’t be discounted.”
Barney takes a swig of beer, squints at her over the top of the refrigerator door. Because he’s pretty sure they had this same discussion last week, but she was arguing passionately for Dan and he was going for Casey, just to get her good and pissed off and hopefully horny. “I thought Dan was the hockey one.”
“Uh, he is,” Robin says and her cheek ticks the tiniest bit; Barney only catches it because he’s spent the past decade learning to read weakness in people. She steps in closer. “But you know, Casey’s stance is acceptable, and he’s really the better broadcaster. I would know, right?” And he catches the expectant flicker in her eyes, and oh.
And oh he knew it, he so knew it. “You,” he says triumphantly as he waves an accusing finger, “are trying to sleep with me right now.”
Her head snaps up. ”What?”
“You’re picking a fight with me so we’ll ‘accidently’ do it.” There’s a funny kind of happiness rising up in his chest, and it’s hard to keep himself grounded, to not start bouncing on his heels. “You totally want me. You’re hot for my body.”
“Barney, that’s crazy. Like that would ever even work,” but her face is getting suspiciously flushed and she’s scratching her neck the way she always does when she’s embarrassed and oh man, it’s so true.
“It’s not crazy; hell, I’ve been doing it to you all summer. Works like magic.”
“It- you’ve been doing it? Please, if anything I’ve been the one- “
“AH-HA,” he shouts, and she bats his waving hand out of her face with a scowl.
“Calm down, Jesus. Sometimes I can’t believe you’re thirty-four.”
“So you admit it. You totally meant to sleep with me all those times.”
Robin sighs heavily, pushes hair out of her face. “Of course I meant to, you idiot. You really think you’re so charming that I’d be overpowered by your awesomeness and fall into bed with you against my will?”
He frowns a little. “Yes?”
“Wow. You’re so lucky I can’t find my gun right now.”
That makes him jerk back from his happy ‘Robin-maybe-likes-me’ place; he takes a cautious step backwards, towards the safety of the coffee table. “So. If you wanted to sleep with me, and I mean, who wouldn’t, why didn’t you just say so?”
She waves a frustrated hand, and okay, she looks kind of mad. “Oh, I don’t know Barney, maybe because I’ve seen the way you are with women and because you’re one of the people I care about the most and because this kind of stuff usually ends terribly with everyone hating each other?” All her fight dissipates and she slumps into herself, and it’s so not Robin that he blinks. “This stuff is hard. And it’s inconvenient, and once it stops being an accident there’s all this other crap you have to deal with too, and- I don’t know. ”
Something catches a little in his throat. “You’d want it to be other stuff, too?” His voice comes out kind of embarrassingly small, and he mentally kicks himself for the lapsed moment of Ted-itude, sinks onto the lone bar-stool by the counter.
“Oh my god,” she says, pressing a hand over her eyes. “Can we please just, I don’t know, fight about hockey or something instead?”
Barney almost says yes, almost lets it go. But then he thinks about how much Lily will yell when he tells her about this, and how weird it is to think that Robin’s afraid of anything, and how much he sort-of-liked it when she kissed him good-bye that one time. He thinks about Ted, prepping his lectures all those hours and freaking out but still doing it. Still taking the chance.
So instead he folds his arms. “I’m not going to fight with you, Scherbatsky. And hockey sucks; it’s like the lame Canadian excuse for football.”
“You- what?”
He takes a deep breath. “Have dinner with me. Tonight, have dinner with me.”
Arms cross over her chest to mirror him, and she frowns the tiniest bit. “I have dinner with you every Friday. And you don’t even like football. You just like betting on things.”
“You know what I mean. You, me, not the whole crowd.”
She quirks a cautious eyebrow, but amusement’s curling lightly at the corner of her lips. “Are you asking me on a date?”
It doesn’t look like she’s going to hit him, which is good. Barney shrugs, tries to make like he’s not on the verge of a panic attack or anything. “No pressure. Just dinner. But if you expect me to put out, I’m just saying: not until you have dinner with me.”
A surprised laugh breaks out. “Okay, so you’re not asking me on a date, you’re bribing me on a date. With sex.”
“Now you’ve got it.”
“You’re unbelievable.” She purses her lips, looks at him for a long moment and this is one of those times Barney really wishes he could do that Jedi mind-reading shit. “You’re really serious about this. I don’t believe it: Barney Stinson, passing on commitment-free sex in favor of dinner.”
“Welllll,” he says, drawing it out, because… really. “I mean, you’ll still come home with me at the end of the night, right?”
“Totally beyond hope,” but she’s smiling a real smile now, that familiar crooked Robin grin that he knows means she thinks he’s an idiot but still kind of great in spite of it. “How do you even function in the world?”
“I’m taking that as a compliment.”
“You really shouldn’t.” Her teeth catch her bottom lip as she chews thoughtfully on her straw. “No pressure?”
“Please, do I look like I’m planning on kidnapping you and dragging you to the suburbs anytime soon? I’m not Ted.”,
Robin squints at him, slides her empty glass onto the kitchen counter with a flick of determination. “Okay, fine. But we’re going somewhere I can get a cheeseburger. And you’re paying.”
“Of course.” He hops off his stool, throws out an elbow. “Shall we?”
“Right now?”
He winks. “No time like the present, am I right?” Sure, she rolls her eyes, but after she grabs her purse she totally tucks her arm through his. “Besides,” and he’s grinning so hard that his face hurts, “I’m starving. If you gave me a choice between naked Scarlett Johansson and a steak right now, I’d probably pick the steak.”
“Good to know you’ve got your priorities straight. Gotta fill up before you fill… up.” She thumps his arm, starts pushing him toward the door and shamefully ignores his attempt at a backwards fist-bump, which he’s pretty sure is a violation of the Bro Code. “Get a move on, will you? Burgers wait for no man.”
-
Muffled clanging in his kitchen pulls Barney out of sleep the next morning; he throws up a hand to block the sunlight filtering through the blinds, tries to savor waking up for like two more seconds. He’s tired and sore and… good. Really good. Awesomely good, even, since his pillow still smells a little like Robin.
A cabinet bangs shut in the vicinity and he rolls, escapes the sheets to pull on boxers before he pads out of his bedroom in search of the missing Scherbatsky.
His feet stop just outside the entryway because- she’s there in his kitchen, fiddling with his stove in her wrinkled, unzipped cocktail dress from yesterday, hair loose and tangled around her shoulders. “Hey,” she tosses distractedly over her shoulder. “I’m on my way out, just making some tea so I don’t fall asleep on the subway. I don’t know how you drink this green ginseng shit.”
His neck is going all hot and prickly and wow, why does it suddenly feel like a sauna in here? His fingers clench on the counter because this is terrifyingly close to domestic and oh god, what has he done, now he’s gonna have to marry her and she’ll break his heart and it’s getting a little hard to breathe so he reaches desperately for his six word last resort. “That dress,” and it barely comes out, his voice is so weak, “makes you look fat…? ” He presses both palms against the doorframe until the edges bite into his skin. Hopes he’s not sweating too visibly.
Robin barely spares him a glance. “Nice try, but we both know I look awesome in this.”
He swallows, nods, and doesn’t protest when she shoves a mug into his hands.
“I really am going,” she says. “No pressure, remember? Besides, this was your idea.”
“Right,” and he sips his tea as reality comes back, slowly. The adrenalin edge starts to dissipate, leaves him flat and clear. “Sorry.”
Watching him, she leans against the counter. Cradles her mug. “You’re a wreck, you know that?”
He stares into the tea, and he can’t believe he’s fucked this all up already. “Are you mad?”
His gaze snaps up when she bursts out laughing. “Are you kidding? You being calm about this stuff was freaking the crap out of me.” The corners of her eyes are crinkling up with what might be delight, and he thinks he should probably feel a little insulted. “I’m just glad regular Barney’s still in there, somewhere.”
It’s totally a dig, he knows that, but it still makes his chest flood with funny, unexpected warmth. “Cool,” and the smile feels good on his face, pulling at his cheeks.
“Okay, I’m out.” She puts the mug down, turns. “Can you finish zipping me?’
His fingers linger on her back as he pulls the zipper up, going tooth by tooth because from this angle he can see down her dress and she’s totally not any wearing underwear. It’s probably monumentally stupid after what he just pulled but he leans in anyway, presses a light kiss to her skin, just above the clasp at her collar. He lets his thumb trail along her shoulder when she turns and he swallows, opens his mouth to say goodbye but the words get lost when her lips press into his.
It seems like maybe she meant to give him a chaste sort of goodbye kiss, but then he can’t help it, he cups her chin in his hands and she opens her mouth into his and any chance of ‘chaste’ flies out the window. She’s tugging him back and he stumbles, ends up blindly pressing her back into the door of his refrigerator as they kiss and kiss and kiss, lots of tongue and groping hands until she’s palming him through the fabric of his boxers and he’s got her dress shoved up to her belly button, fingers sliding between her legs.
He wraps his other hand around the back of her knee, tries hitching her leg up but they overbalance and gravity takes over; they end up sprawled on the tile. Robin’s not deterred; she slides smoothly up astride his stomach as she stretches for her purse, digs through it to produce a condom.
“You’re really into the floor, aren’t you?” and he runs fingers along her triceps, up and down as she tears at the plastic wrapper. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s pretty hot.”
She shrugs, shoots him a smirk as he slicks an open-mouthed kiss onto her palm. “I don’t discriminate. But the floor is usually handy.”
“True story,” and then she rolls the condom on, and Barney stops thinking for a while.
-
“Whoops,” Robin grins later into his collarbone as his heartbeat starts slowing back to normal, and he laughs. Her hand strokes up one of the fading surgical scars along his ribcage, curls in his hair, and he waits to feel smothered, waits for the usual restlessness, but it doesn’t come. His brain stays quiet, catalogs her toes wiggling along the arch of his foot and the soft push of her stomach against his.
She pushes off his shoulders, sits up to roll off his hips in a way that’s not at all graceful. “Okay, really am leaving now,” and then she’s looming over him as she attempts to smooth her dress back down into something approximating neat. “You coming to the bar tonight?”
“Probably,” he says, lets his eyes drift shut contentedly. The bathroom door creaks open, closed, and a second later he hears the steady hiss of the tap. The next thing he knows something’s digging into his ribcage, and when he blinks lids open to investigate, it’s Robin nudging him with the pointy tip of her shoe, jacket on and looking bemused.
“You planning on getting up anytime soon, champ?”
He reaches out, wraps fingers around her heel. “You could stay?”
She chuckles a little. “Oh, no,” and her foot wriggles out of his grasp. “I’ll see you later.” Robin pauses at the door to smile sweetly back at him. “Get off the floor and take a shower, Barney. You smell like a hobo.”
The door clicks shut behind her. “A sexy hobo!” he shouts, and he can hear her laughter through the wall, all the way down the hallway to the elevator. He folds his arms behind his head, grins to himself as he stares up at the ceiling, tiles cool against his back. All in all, he’s gonna have to put this down as a pretty good summer. Definitely a good summer, because he’s sure now that this- whatever this turns out to be- well.
Whatever happens, this is gonna be awesome.
-
the end (sorry, Aaron Sorkin)
Author: the_spin
Spoilers: through the end of the 4th season
Words: 9435
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: not mine.
AN: shortish post-finale fic, Barney POV is fucking hard.
Summary: Five summertime slips.
1.) April 26th
“Okay, so. Maybe we didn’t think this one through.”
Marshall shakes his head, grunts a little as he throws his weight into shoving the hot tub cover across the lip of the wall. He’s not giving up on paradise that easily. One more massive shove and plastic thuds dully onto glossy hardwood deck; they wince collectively at the sound. “No. No way. Try the door again.”
Ted jiggles the handle and… nothing. “I told you, it’s locked.”
Robin sighs heavily, and Barney can’t help smiling to himself as she looks forlornly at the huge cooler of leftover beer just visible over the wall of their own roof. “So much for being impulsive.”
“No!” The snap of his voice makes them all glance back as Marshall triumphantly flips the power switch; the tub bubbles to life with an inviting whir. “Guys, this is tonight, the night that anything is possible.” He straightens up to his full, yeti-esque height, casts a glance around the roof. His eyes narrow with determination. “Give me five minutes, and we’ll get this party started!”
And with that he strides to the edge of the roof and swings his legs over the side.
“Fire escape,” Lily says. “Who knew?
-
Barney knows his parties, as any good bro should. An encyclopedic knowledge of the typical demographics, social mores, and level of inebriation for any potential destination is invaluable when planning an awesome night on the town. His research on the subject is extensive; after all, he’s determined to finish writing his definitive guide to hooking up by the time he turns forty. Not sharing his expertise with the rest of the world would be a crime. He’s already published several well-received blog posts on the subject, including last year’s ‘Foam Parties, Wet T-Shirt Contests, and the Alcohol-to-Water-to-Clothing Equation: A Primer.”
If he had to rank parties by their potential for awesomeness, a hot tub party that no one planned for would be very near the top of his list. Maybe just below invite-only erotic exploration parties, just above 21st birthdays at skeezy clubs in downtown Manhattan. No arguing with it; his ranking methodology is highly scientific and has totally been validated by several panels of experts. “So, hot tub.” Maybe he’s grinning a little too wide. “Which of you ladies needs help taking your top off? I’m very handy with a zipper.”
Lily punches his shoulder, but the pain doesn’t stop him from noticing Robin’s barely suppressed chuckle. Worth it.
-
By the time Marshall reappears over the side of the roof with two bottles shoved awkwardly into his pockets (‘Tequila!’ Robin exclaims. ‘My hero!’), the rest of them have stripped down to their makeshift bathing suits, also known as underwear, and are lounging happily in the Jacuzzi. Lily made them all avert their eyes when she stepped into the water but Robin’s strapless bra is delightfully see-through when wet, so that makes up for any missed opportunities in Barney’s book. He keeps waiting for her to yell at him for staring at her chest, but when he finally manages to drag his eyes back up to her face, her gaze is fixed steadily on a point somewhere around his sternum.
He grins and leans against the wall, slides elbows back to provide the best possible viewing angle. Moments like these are why he wakes up at five AM every day to hit the gym before work, hell yeah.
Ted sighs from his right, slides farther down into the water as he takes a swig from the bottle and looks up at the starless sky. “Lily’s right. I’m gonna do it. I’ll take the job. It can’t be any worse than being broke, right?”
Everything is quiet besides the bubbling of the tub, that sort of warm nighttime silence that only happens on rooftops during the summer.“Professor Mosby,” Lily says contemplatively. “I like the sound of that.”
Barney just nods absently, because obviously Ted was gonna take the job. It was only a matter of time because no one ever choses to stay broke, and Robin’s bra isn’t getting any less transparent. If he squints he can just make out the outline of her nipple, and maybe even a freckle and-
but then chlorine stings in his eyes as a wall of water slaps into his skin. He sputters, wipes it away, and looks up to see Robin smirking triumphantly at him. “Well, that got your attention.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you had my attention,” and that makes her splash him again, and then he splashes back but his aim sucks and he gets Marshall full in the face instead and it all devolves from there, at least until Lily shrieks when Barney kicks her in the shin escaping from Ted and Robin, who were possibly trying to murder him by holding his head under the surface.
“Stop, guys,” and Lily’s breathless with laughter as she shoves the three of them back to their side of the tub. “You’re killing my knees, here.”
There’s a pause, and then- “No mercy,” Marshall shouts as he lunges into the fray, and this time Ted’s the one that shrieks.
A clang echoes across the rooftop. “Hey! Who’s out there?” They follow the sound, and Barney can just make out the silhouette of a man hanging out the window on the corner of the building.
“Uh,” Ted stutters, and Barney elbows him as hard as he can. “We’re friend’s of… Jim’s.”
“Who?”
“Tim?”- at the same time Marshall shouts, a little too desperately, ‘Rick, we’re friends of Rick!”
“Okay,” the guy says, pulling back into his apartment. “I’m calling the cops.”
-
They’re halfway down the fire escape when Barney realizes. “My suit!” It’s pure instinct: he starts scrambling back up the ladder and collides handily with Robin’s bare legs.
“Dude! We all left our clothes, just keep moving!”
“Go back up,” he hisses and Robin throws an exasperated look at the others over his shoulder, but turns around and starts climbing in spite of it. She’s a good friend.
He’s carefully folding his silk Gucci tie across the rest of the suit draped over his arm when Robin curses, stumbles back from where she was peering over the ledge. “Cops! They saw me.” She darts to the door, pulls the handle uselessly. “Great. Because I really wanted to get hauled into the police station for trespassing, tonight.”
But thankfully some careless soul left the stairwell window unlatched; they lever it open, though he’s maybe less helpful because he’s carefully holding his suit away from his damp skin, and squeeze through. The air-conditioning hits in a blast; he can hear Robin’s teeth chattering as he follows her down the stairs.
They hit the ground floor and he reaches for the door handle, but she grabs his arm, pulls him back. “Wait, they were going into the lobby! They’re probably still there.” She casts around, eyes light on a padlocked door to their right, and it’s all very secret agent and kind of indescribably hot. “Storage closet!”
Barney pulls the pin off his crumpled tie and shoves it into the keyhole, starts working the tumbler.
“Since when can you pick locks?” she says over his shoulder.
He scoffs. “Did you or did you not witness my daring underwater escape from handcuffs and like twenty pounds of chains?” He twists his wrist, but the tumbler sticks stubbornly. He tries again.
‘You’re doing it wrong.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Not!”
“You really, really are,” she snaps as the door from the roof swings open somewhere above them; the clang echoes down through the stairwell. Suddenly there are cold, wet palms on his shoulder blades, and she shoves him out of the way.
He glares at the back of her damp hair. “Like you would even know!”
“Please,” she mutters, intent on the padlock. “We had a chain just like this at home on my mother’s liquor cabinet.”
He can hear feet tripping down the stairs above them as he rolls his eyes. “Hurry up!”
“Shut up for five seconds and I will.” She groans in frustration when the pin sticks; Robin pulls it out, tries again. “Damn it. This is your fault, you know.”
“Let me!”
“I’ve got it, okay?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” and maybe he’s clutching at her elbow because the footfalls are getting closer and he really can’t go to jail again, he’s way too pretty and-
But then the lock clicks open and Robin is ripping off the chain and pulling him through the door; they stumble, and his suit slips out of his grasp and somehow he ends up sandwiched between her and a shelf of cleaning products. “Took you long enough, geeze,” he pants with as much acid as he can muster, but then it’s all reflex and his mouth is on hers and her clammy hands are clutching at the back of his neck as they press together, all goosebumped skin and damp, clinging boxers.
Barney really likes the way she kisses, messy but not too messy. Lots of tongue. It feels hot and dirty and desperate, always a favorite; he grins against her mouth as her fingers clench into his ass. Wraps arms around to drag her closer, grinds his hips into hers through the thin barrier of their underwear. Their stomachs brush together, apart, together again and she tenses up; before he can really register it she’s got a leg wrapped tight around the back of his knee.
Her soft moan vibrates against the shell of his ear, and she’s rocking her hips reflexively against his thigh as his lips slide down to her neck. “Oh fuck it,” and her hands slip away from his body. He’s about to protest the absence but then he feels the soft whump of fabric onto his toes.
Barney breaks away, looks down in confusion; there’s a pair of black cotton panties crumpled on top of his bare foot. She’s busy shoving his boxers down and then he snaps back into it, hooks suddenly clumsy fingers into the band of her bra to tug it down around her waist. Then her hands are warm on his face and her lips are on his again, and he goes all foggy, get lost somewhere between the feel of her breasts pressing into his chest and the taste of her tongue and the brush of her thigh across his dick.
It’s all kind of blowing his mind until she manages to kick his legs out from under him and he lands on his ass, hard. “That’s going to fucking bruise.”
The stairwell stays silent, and in his brief moment of pain-induced-clarity he really hopes that the insane landlord gave up the chase and went back to bed. He groans, for effect.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Robin says, breath hot against his cheek as she tries to untangle her legs from his own, leverages herself up over his chest. His hands skim up to settle around her waist of their own volition and then she slides down onto him way too fast, and it’s hot and tight and even more awesome than he remembers.
Her fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulders as she starts to moves against his hips, rolling and grinding unevenly. He tries to get a hold on himself, ignores his own thready breathing as he presses up on an elbow to wrap an arm around her back. Digs his heels into the floor to help her set their fast, sloppy rhythm.
Her eyes stay closed, forehead furrowed with determination and suddenly, more than anything, Barney wants her to look at him. To look at his face, look him in the eyes and- where the hell did that come from? He shakes it off, pulls her down to his mouth; when her teeth scrape his bottom lip his stomach twists a little at the sting, at the faint metallic tang of blood.
It ends embarrassingly fast for both of them; when he comes his head cracks back onto linoleum so hard his vision blurs for a second. Her thighs are still trembling a little against the jut of his hip bones, rubbing the tiniest bit against the fingers he he’s got shoved between their bodies. He lets knuckles trail along the rise of her spine, closes his eyes in the post-orgasm/possible-concussion haze and takes stock as awareness of the rest of the world starts seeping back in.
His back is gonna be fucked tomorrow, as much as he hates to admit it, but that’s par for the course after you get half your bones ground into gravel. Banging chicks on freezing-ass tile floors just isn’t what it used to be; damn buses and casts and Ted and his stupid Murtaugh list.
“Whoops,” Robin finally mutters into his collarbone, and that makes him chuckle. He forces his eyes open, gives in to impulse and strokes her hair the tiniest bit. It’s a weird feeling, her so heavy and warm on top of him and the floor so fucking cold below. Robin shakes his hands off, sits up but the shift of her weight along his pelvis sends a jolt down to his toes and he follows her helplessly, tries to steal one more kiss before she comes to her senses.
But her eyes widen with alarm, fix instead on the floor just behind him. “Barney, your suit.”
-
It’s ruined, no getting around it. He’s seen his drycleaner work miracles before, but a chlorine soaking plus getting ground into a storage closet floor that hasn’t been cleaned since the Reagan era? No coming back from that.
“Well.” Robin lays a comforting hand on his forearm. “At least it went out with a bang.”
He grins weakly. “Hey-o.”
One foot lifts, then the other as she steps back into her underwear, reaches down to pull on his beaten-up shirt as he tugs on his slacks. He can’t help but stare at the reddening bite marks tracing her throat as she tugs her hair out over the collar, and when she catches his eye a surge of terror wells up. Because even though that was far from the best sex he’s ever had, it felt great in a way he’s never really felt before, and Barney kind of likes his life just the way it is. He loves her, sure, and he feels so much better now that he’s said it out loud, but the idea of anything else makes his insides seize up with panic.
Robin’s still staring at him, looking like she wants to say something but she doesn’t quite know what. She lifts a hand awkwardly, drops it down again. “Later?” she says finally.
The surge of relief is unexpectedly intense. “Later,” and then they push out of the storage closet, sneak their way down the hall and out on the pavement.
When they make it back to the apartment, Lily looks expectedly smug.
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In a weird way, Barney gets Lily’s whole Front Porch thing. Not that he thinks about the future all the time, no way. That’s fucking lame. Barney Stinson lives in the moment, for the moment. Ahead of the moment, even. Planning out your life is for the Teds of the world, not for him.
But ever since he met Ted and Marshall and Lily, it’s been hard not to picture them still together somewhere down the line, which is simultaneously strange and a tiny bit reassuring. He thinks about it in rare moments of weakness, of Thanksgivings twenty years from now after Lily and Marshall and Ted have inevitably descended into married-settled-loserdom and popped out a truckload of kids.
He’ll roll in, cool Uncle Barney, President and CEO of BarneyCorp and inspiration to Bros everywhere. Maybe with a hot Swedish nurse on his arm, and he’ll eat Lily’s amazing maple-glazed turkey and they’ll all drink beers and laugh as he tries to undo all the damage done by his friends’ sappy, touchy-feely parenting. He figures he got to Ted, Marshall, and Lily way too late, but the kids have a fighting chance if he’s around for their formative years.
Somewhere along the line, Robin started popping up at future Thanksgiving, too. He’s not really sure when it started, and he doesn’t question it because he’s not that kind of guy. Anyway, Future-Thanksgiving-Robin is totally awesome, breezing in from some far corner of the globe with a dude twenty years her junior. He never even for a minute thinks of her as Ted’s future wife, even after they’ve been dating for months. That one was doomed to fail; Robin’s always been a cougar in the making. Barney would know; he can recognize his own.
It doesn’t even register when cougar-Robin starts showing up at Thanksgiving alone instead of toting a hot, accented boy-toy. Barney doesn’t get it, not until he’s on the edge of sleep after his first victory-bang two days after he gets out of rehab, when future-Thanksgiving-Robin leans in after dessert and presses a kiss to his temple.
He bolts upright, and the girl next to him moans from underneath a pile of untidy black hair and tangled bedding. “Why is the room spinning?”
Barney ignores her, escapes into the bathroom. Turns on the tap, splashes water onto his face, and oh god, something is seriously wrong.
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2.) June 14th
Later never happens, and before he knows it he’s wiping sweat off the back of his neck at Stuart and Claudia’s courtyard barbecue as he prays for sunset or an excuse to leave, whichever comes first.
“I never thought I’d say this,” Robin mumbles around an enthusiastic mouthful of hot dog, “but I really hate that Stuart decided to get clean.”
“You and me both,” and he swirls the very non-alcoholic fruit punch in his red plastic cup. “I can’t believe we didn’t come prepared! Party Rule Number One: always carry your own personal stash in case provisions run low! Or in case they aren’t serving underage girls.”
She rolls her eyes, but he can tell that she’s trying not to smile. “Yesterday you said party rule number one was ‘make sure at least 50 percent of the guests are single before accepting the E-vite.”
“Fine. You want it to be Party Rule Number Two, it’s Party Rule Number Two.”
“I’m just asking for a little consistency here.”
“Yeah, well, consistency is for losers.”
Robin revs up a little at that, he can tell, opens her mouth again and his pulse jumps a little at the anticipation of an argument. But then suddenly Marshall’s there between them, clapping them each on the shoulder so hard that Barney feels the vibration in his feet.
“Guys, they have horseshoes! Tournament time!”
“Hell yeah!” Robin hops a little with excitement, any protests about party rules forgotten in the anticipation of competition. “I call Marshall on my team.”
“Hey! You can’t call someone for your team; you have to wait until the designated team-picking… time. Or do the rules of sportsmanship not apply in Canada?”
Her answering scowl is pretty spectacular. “Says the guy who called the last doughnut yesterday, before I even went to get them. Sorry buddy, I’m still calling Marshall.”
“Marshall,” Marshall says loudly, cutting off Barney’s retort, “is on Lily’s team. You guys are the scrappy underdog challengers. Now seriously, hurry up and finish your hot dogs so you can get your asses handed to you.”
They watch Marshall’s retreating back, and Barney groans a little. “Well, crap.”
She sighs in agreement. “We’re doomed,” and shoves the last of the crumbling hot dog bun in her mouth, wipes her hands resolutely on her jeans. “God, I wish I had a beer right now.”
“Fucking Stuart,” he mutters, and they trudge off to face inevitable annihilation.
-
They do indeed get royally trounced, in spite of an impressive show of Canadian-style-trash-talking courtesy of Robin. As Ted and the rest of the onlookers laugh heartily at Marshall and Lily’s intricately choreographed victory dance, Barney and Robin slink off to lick their wounds.
He’s contemplating escaping to the liquor store on the corner and chugging a six-pack en route back to the party when Robin’s fingers slip loosely around his wrist as she leans in conspiratorially. “I have cigarettes,” and god, those are maybe the three most awesome words in the English language right now.
Claudia narrows eyes at them when Robin pulls the pack out of her purse, so they wind up in the bathroom just off the building lobby, crowded into a stall as they blow streams of smoke out the window. “Air-conditioning,” Robin sighs blissfully, leaning into the sill. “It’s too fucking hot in this city. Heat waves make people do stupid things. Murders always spike in the summer, you know.”
“Don’t knock New York for having seasons that last longer than a week. Normal people enjoy weather that doesn’t require a parka.” He watches her face, takes another drag. He hasn’t had a cigarette in forever. “I take it quitting didn’t stick.”
“Yet again,” she finishes, and opens her eyes to smile at him and he’s pretty sure that look right there is why so many guys fall in love with her. He kind of wishes he knew what it meant. “I tried but- well. We’ve all got our vices.”
He can’t help grinning at her. “I fully support the indulgence of vices,” and she snorts mid-inhale so hard she ends up coughing into her hand.
“Yeah, you’re like, the Duke of vices.”
“Uh, Chancellor of vices. Please.”
“Arch-bishop of vices!”
“Prince of vices, what up?”
Her eyes light up. “Vice President!” and he laughs, delighted, turns to give her the requisite high five and miscalculates the distance (totally an accident) just as she shifts her weight and they end up nearly nose-to-nose. He’s not quite sure who leans in; all he knows is that his mouth goes dry when he tastes the hint of menthol on her lips. He drops the burned down stub of his cigarette, reaches blindly for her shoulder.
“Robin?” and she jolts away; Barney’s back slams into the curve of the exposed plumbing. Motherfucker.
Robin’s hurriedly wiping her mouth, unlatching the door of the stall. “Lily! Hey!” and he’s a little impressed at how cool she sounds through the haze of fucking vertebrae-pain.
Their friend frowns, sniffs the air. “You guys were smoking.” She sounds a bit disappointed.
“Yup, you caught us,” Barney moans weakly, and Robin shoots him a look that he interprets as ‘say anything else and you die.’
“They just brought out cake; I thought you’d want to know. It’s chocolate.”
“Thanks, Lily,” Robin says a little tightly, stubs out Barney’s cigarette with her heel. “I think I’m heading out, though. See you guys,” and then she’s out the door before either of them can answer.
Lily purses her lips for a second, then draws back and punches his arm with way more strength than a tiny person should legitimately have.
“What the hell?!”
“I’m just assuming.” But then she steps in, wraps arms around and hugs him tightly. Barney blows out a breath into her hair because this shit is way too confusing for a Saturday afternoon. He wraps an arm around and hugs her back, lets himself enjoy it for a second. Then he shakes his head, shakes it off when she pulls away and pats his arm reassuringly. Weekends are not for confusion. Weekends are for awesoming.
This seems like an excellent time to go find out whether or not that girl wearing the green bikini top is into firefighters. No, maybe surgeons. Barney squints, hits on it. Doctors Without Borders.
Yeah, he’s a fucking genius.
3.) July 23rd
“I can’t do this. Why did I think I could do this? Barney, why did I think I could do this?”
He’s sitting with a wild-eyed Ted on the couch, surrounded by what Barney suspects is every single book from the Architecture section of the New York Public Library. He came over here to try and coax Ted down to the bar, but Ted looked so pitiful that he somehow let himself get roped into playing stenographer. They’ve spent the past two hours making a list of the pros and cons of each book for inclusion in Ted’s syllabus and okay, Ted is his best bro and everything, but fifteen more minutes of this and Barney might stab the pen he’s holding into his own jugular, just to escape. “You can do this, man. You’re gonna be a kickass professor. And it’s not like any of them are going to do the reading, anyway.”
“Oh god, don’t say that,” Ted moans, drops his face into his hands. “I can’t believe I’m gonna have to go through all this stuff. I can’t assign a reading if I haven’t done it myself! And lectures. I don’t know how to write a lecture!”
“You’re gonna be fine,” and just then Robin walks in, drops her keys onto the coffee table amid the stacks of books.
“Uh oh, crisis of confidence, I take it.” Barney nods the tiniest bit, as much as he can without Ted noticing, and she gestures for the legal pad. He hands it over with a relieved sigh and she pages quickly through the list. “Okay Ted, this is what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna go through this list, and you’re gonna circle the twenty top books. And then you’re going to go to sleep and we’ll talk about it in the morning, okay?”
“Robin, I can’t just-“ but she cuts him off with a glare, and he swallows. “Okay.”
-
So they set Ted up at his drafting table, pat him reassuringly on the back, and sneak into the kitchen to grab beers.
“Thank god you got here when you did,” and he tosses her the opener after he pops the cap off his bottle.
She shrugs. “It’s been like this all week.”
He opens his mouth, closes it, because this is the first time he’s been semi-alone with her in weeks and his brain is kicking in with all kinds of questions about talking and feelings and she’s just looking at him, calm and unreadable and all normal-regular-Robin. And this, this right here is why he’s been trying to not be in this situation. It makes his head hurt and the last thing he wants to do is talk. In his experience, talking sucks.
It’s too quiet here and god, if he stays in this kitchen something’s going to slip out. “Want to go down to the bar?”
She lifts a shoulder non-commitally. “I was just there.”
“So? It’s the bar. We’re there all the time.”
“I don’t want bar-fatigue, Barney. Getting sick of MacLaren’s would be like, the worst thing ever. I’m trying to pace myself.”
He huffs playfully, because whatever, she’s crazy and he kind of loves fighting with her. “Like it’s possible to get sick of MacLaren’s, the most awesome bar in the Universe.”
“It might be. Bar-fatigue is a real thing. Look it up. I’m just saying, I don’t want to risk it.”
“Oh my god,” Ted mutters from the living room. “Will you two just-“ and then breaks off, snaps his mouth shut. “Could you please take it somewhere else?”
Robin flushes, and Barney frowns a little at her, not quite sure what’s going on. “I- have to do laundry,” she says quickly, and disappears into her bedroom.
-
He gives up on Ted and is on his way down to the bar, nearly out the door, when he hesitates. Pushes back, takes the stairs to the basement instead. Robin’s alone at the row of laundry machines, throwing her clothes into the top-loader with a lot more force than necessary.
He hesitates a moment before crossing the room, watches her as he tries to ignore the tug low in his gut. “You really shouldn’t mix delicate fabrics in with jeans like that.”
Her snort is audible, but she doesn’t turn around. The lid slams shut and she jabs the wash selection with satisfaction.“Your fixation with clothing is a little weird.”
“I’m just saying, they make different wash cycles for a reason.”
“At least I separated out the whites this time, right?”
The shudder that tickles down his spine is totally involuntary. “You don’t usually?” and that makes her laugh. He’s drawn in, he can’t help it, and then he’s so close that she stops chuckling. “You need a laundry service, seriously. This is breaking my heart. Those poor, innocent blouses.”
“Like it’s any of your business,” she scoffs, but she’s grinning and and she’s got that look in her eyes, that challenging, frustrated look, and he knows that’s his cue to lean in because maybe he doesn’t really understand how to navigate the whole feelings thing, but he gets this. Sometimes he feels like this kind of stuff is the only stuff he gets at all.
And when her arms wrap around his waist just like he’s anticipating, he grins triumphantly into her lips.
-
The washing machine buzzes, startles him out of his post-coital fascination with the nape of her neck. She scrubs a hand over her face, curses softly. When he steps back from where he has her pinned against the dryer she turns without meeting his eyes, reaches down to pull her sweatpants back up.
He snaps off the condom, starts buckling his belt as he tries to convince himself that it doesn’t really matter if she’s thinks fucking him was a mistake because hey, he still got to nail her, right? But as she starts pulling her laundry out of the machine, tossing it into the dryer, he gives up the pretense. Because it does matter, and it’s Robin, and it’s making him feel like shit. He scrubs a hand through his hair, starts trying to figure out how to apologize when she says-
“This isn’t fair to you.”
Barney blinks. “What?”
She sighs, turns to face him. “We opened the hook- up floodgates. But you want a serious relationship, and I- we shouldn’t do this stuff if you want that. It’s not fair.”
The panic kicks in, a bone-deep reflex loop. “Relationship?” he squeaks. “Who said anything about a relationship? Please, Robin. I in no way said anything about a relationship, ever. That’s not how the Barnacle rolls. Please.” Is he breaking out in hives?
She squints at him. “You really did.”
“I totally did not, ever. Maybe I said that I possibly have some feelings for you. Maybe. But I definitely did not propose any kind of monogamous arrangement.” He makes his most serious face. “No way. Not possible.”
The tension is bleeding out of her features. “You’re such a liar,” but she looks a thousand times lighter, and mostly sort of amused. “Right,” and she feeds quarters into the dryer. “Okay, I’ve got an hour to kill.” She eyes him carefully, half-smile twitching at her cheek. “Want to go grab a milkshake?”
-
After milkshakes are obtained from the diner five blocks down (chocolate for him and pistachio for her, which must be some weird Canadian thing), they meander slowly back towards the apartment. He shoots a glance over just as she slurps loudly through her straw, and the sudden well of affection takes him completely by surprise.
“Poor Ted,” she’s saying, but the way the words come out tell him she’s just talking to fill any potential uncomfortable silences. “He’s really Tedding out over this whole thing; I don’t think he’s slept in four days.”
“Yeah, unsurprising,” but he’s not really thinking about that and Ted’s always Tedding out about something, anyway. No, Barney’s feeling weirdly even right now, like all his shit just makes sense and he doesn’t need to cover for anything. Like maybe he’s starting to understand where she’s coming from. “I’ll always be your friend, you know that, right?”
When he looks over she’s squinting at him, like she’s worried that he’s maybe having a stroke or something. “What?”
“I’m just saying. Bros for life, no matter what happens. That’s the code.”
“Why are you-“ and she stops walking right in the middle of the pavement, eyes widening. “Oh god, are you sick or something?”
“Am I- what the hell is wrong with you? No!”
She winces, sighs. “Okay, sorry. It’s just… it’s weird when you get nice all of a sudden like that.” Her hand comes up to wipe a dribble of shake off her chin. “Not that I think you’re- never mind.”
Barney screws up his mouth, tries not to be insulted and focuses his attention back to his milkshake instead. He sneaks another glance, and she’s watching him through her lashes.
“So,” and her tone is light again, jovial. “You’d still hang with me if I got a perm and married an accountant and had ten kids and moved to Cleveland?”
He chews his straw, glares at her a little. “I’m an accountant,” and oh, totally worth it for the spilt second of sheer panic on her face; it’s so delicious he can’t keep it going for longer than that before he breaks. “Geeze Scherbatsky, you’re so easy.” That makes her laugh, and he has to tug on her elbow to keep her from getting bowled over by a couple of evening joggers. “And yes, I would still hang with you.”
“Good to know,” she says with mock-solemnity, but there’s a funny, happy look on her face that wasn’t there before. She bumps him with a hip, leans in the tiniest bit. “I’m gonna need someone awesome around to help me bust out of the nursing home when I’m eighty.”
“I am the master of escapes,” he agrees, and that probably shouldn’t make him feel as good as it does. He skips ahead, dodges backwards around the lamppost. “Lots of experience. If you ever need help slipping out of a fourth floor walk-up while the dude you just banged is showering and you’re, you know, tied naked to the headboard, I’m your guy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” and even though she rolls her eyes, she totally accepts the fist bump.
All things considered, Barney’s having a pretty good night. But he knows something that’ll make it even better. “Hey, want to go make Ted crazy some more? Maybe he’ll finally give up and go to bed.”
Robin grins at him. “A couple rounds of Guitar Hero should do the trick.”
4.) August 17th
“You’re screwing this up,” Lily says from across the booth, and Barney barely looks up from his Blackberry. He has a text from Jennifer, and it looks like all systems are primed for a possible Friday night booty-call. A player’s gotta stay ahead of the game.
“Screwing is never a bad thing, Lily.” He holds out his hand, doesn’t stop scrolling through his email until Marshall’s let the high-five hang for about five seconds too long. “Dude, what?”
“With Robin,” she hisses furtively, looking around like she’s worried someone’s gonna overhear which is kind of ridiculous since Robin left for work fifteen minutes ago. “You are massively, massively screwing this up and not at all in the good way, Barney.” She lays a hand on Marshall’s arm and nods solemnly at him, and then Marshall reaches into his jacket, pulls out a crumpled piece of notebook paper with a flourish and shoves it into Barney’s face.
“Ishcontention?”
”INTERVENTION,” and now Marshall’s hissing too and seriously, when did MacLaren’s bar talk become Cone-Of-Silence level confidential?
“I’m sorry, but there’s no way that says ‘Intervention.”
“Wha- it totally does!”
“Nope, no way in” -but then Lily throws a hand between them.
“Marshall’s handwriting is very unique. Like Picasso,” and Barney just rolls his eyes as Marshall shoots an adoring smile down at his wife.
“Look, I don’t even know what this is about, but it’s already the lamest intervention in the history of ever. You guys couldn’t even spring for the banner?” He shoots her his most pathetic look, the one he uses on chicks that look like they might be the mothering type. “I’m hurt.”
He doesn’t quite catch what Marshall mumbles, leans in closer. Lily sighs, swirls her drink guiltily. “Okay, maybe Ted vetoed and said we couldn’t use the banner for this one. He’s holding it hostage.”
“So this isn’t even official?”
Lily leans forward. “Think of it as an improvised emergency situation, okay? This is serious.” She and Marshall glance at each other again, back at him. “You can’t keep doing what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?”
Marshall raises an eyebrow. “What you’re doing is getting into a fight with Robin at the jukebox about whether ‘Sussudido’ or ‘Something in the Air Tonight’ is the more annoying Phil Collins song, disappearing upstairs for twenty minutes, and then coming back down here with lipstick on your neck.”
“Oh,” and Barney tries not to grin, reaches up absently to wipe the offending smudge from under his chin. “That.” He holds up a fist. “In that case, I request a tap. A tap for tapping that, what up?”
Lily slaps at his hand. “No tap! This is worst idea in the history of your bad ideas, Barney. If you ever want her to take you seriously, you can’t pretend that you don’t care about this stuff.”
He squints. “What did Ted think?”
“Ted thinks we should leave you guys alone,” and Marshall winces when Lily ‘s elbow connects with his ribs. “What, it’s true!”
“Well, Ted is wrong.” Lily reaches across the table, lays fingers gently on Barney’s hand. “Look, I know this is hard for you, but you can’t tell her how you feel and then pretend like it doesn’t matter if you ever want this to go anywhere. You need to talk to her.”
Barney’s heart kicks up a notch. “Look, I… can’t. This is better than nothing.” He grips his tumbler, tosses the rest of his scotch back. “If I talk to her, she’s just gonna say no. We all know that.”
“I’m not so sure,” and Marshall pulls out a pen, starts drawing lines on his napkin. “If we plot the number of times Robin’s willingly hooked up with you against the amount of time she spends hanging out with you-“ but then Lily snatches the napkin away, starts tearing it into little pieces. “Lily, come on! One time, just one time!”
“I’m sorry, baby. But it’s for your own good.”
“Look, I know what you’re saying,” Barney interrupts. “But that’s not- that’s just Robin when she’s riled up. She doesn’t feel that way. I thought maybe she did, but she doesn’t, and it’s cool. I’m fine with it. I am awesome with it.”
Marshall takes Lily’s hand, squeezes it. “Okay, buddy. Just, think about it, will you?”
-
And weirdly enough, he does think about it. Thinking about things isn’t usually something Barney’s a fan of as it often cuts down on his overall level of psych-itude, but this time he can’t help it. He can’t help thinking about today, about how they laughed all the way through and how Robin grinned as she watched him get dressed again. How she threw a pillow at him when he gave her his sleaziest wink.
How she put her hand on his tie and kissed him on her way to the shower.
He pulls out his phone, flips it open and scrolls through his texts. Stares at the one from Jennifer for a long moment, and finally hits ‘Delete.’
5.) September 3rd
Slowly but surely, the city cools down. The humidity lifts, the breezes roll in again. The Friday Ted’s supposed to start teaching dawns bright and clear, cool enough that they’re all wearing jackets when they meet up for a good-luck lunch at his favorite Italian place in midtown.
Ted silently freaks out all through the appetizers, but by the time the entrees come out they’ve gotten a little wine in him and he doesn’t look quite so green anymore. Marshall raises a glass to ‘Ted Mosby, Adjunct Professor of Awesome at Columbia Awesome University,” and they all cheer loudly enough that the hostess glares back at them from her podium.
“You’re going to be so amazing,” Lily tells him. “From one teacher to another, I swear. You’re going to kick ass and expand some minds.”
“Hear, hear,” Barney says, grins across the table. “You’ll show those brats who’s boss. You need any help with the smartasses, I’m there.”
“They’re grad students, dude,” but Ted still doesn’t look totally reassured. “It’s not like teaching high school.”
Robin passes him a breadstick, winks across the table. “Don’t worry, it’s ‘History of Western Architecture.’ That’s the kind of class everyone sleeps through, anyway.”
“I hate you guys,” he says but he’s laughing, and they all grin at each other. Mission ‘Loosen Ted Up’ accomplished. “Seriously though, thank you. You’ve all been amazing.”
“Nothing you wouldn’t do for us, bro,” and they all nod in agreement and this is one of those times Barney just feels right, like everything fits in the world. Robin catches his eye over the rim of her wine glass, smiles at him. “Really Ted, you’ll do great.”
When it’s time for him to go, they all linger on the pavement a moment. Ted sighs, grins as he hefts his briefcase. “Okay. I’m doing this.”
“Oh, fuck it,” Marshall says, and pulls them all in for a hug right there in the middle of the street.
-
Marshall and Lily head downtown, a little tearfully, but Barney’s pretty much done with everything important for the day so he blows off going back to Goliath, sends a text to his assistant telling him to forward anything important to his email. Instead he ends up walking back toward 75th with Robin, and she doesn’t even make fun of him when he makes her stop at Jamba Juice.
They wind up back at the apartment, sipping their $7 fruit punch and debating whether or not to put on one of her John Woo movies. But then there’s a rerun of yesterday's Sports Night on and Barney gives up any movie as a lost cause when they start talking about hockey.
He pops off the couch to get a beer, and when he turns around to ask whether she wants one- she’s there standing behind him, like half a foot away.
“Hey,” she starts, and nods when he holds up a beer questioningly. “So, Casey is clearly the better sports anchor. You can’t deny it. Did you hear that toss? That was pure professionalism.”
He frowns a little. “Casey is lame. You know this. Dan is king of sports.”
“I’m just saying, I’m coming around on Casey. He knows his hockey. Any man that supports the Canucks can’t be discounted.”
Barney takes a swig of beer, squints at her over the top of the refrigerator door. Because he’s pretty sure they had this same discussion last week, but she was arguing passionately for Dan and he was going for Casey, just to get her good and pissed off and hopefully horny. “I thought Dan was the hockey one.”
“Uh, he is,” Robin says and her cheek ticks the tiniest bit; Barney only catches it because he’s spent the past decade learning to read weakness in people. She steps in closer. “But you know, Casey’s stance is acceptable, and he’s really the better broadcaster. I would know, right?” And he catches the expectant flicker in her eyes, and oh.
And oh he knew it, he so knew it. “You,” he says triumphantly as he waves an accusing finger, “are trying to sleep with me right now.”
Her head snaps up. ”What?”
“You’re picking a fight with me so we’ll ‘accidently’ do it.” There’s a funny kind of happiness rising up in his chest, and it’s hard to keep himself grounded, to not start bouncing on his heels. “You totally want me. You’re hot for my body.”
“Barney, that’s crazy. Like that would ever even work,” but her face is getting suspiciously flushed and she’s scratching her neck the way she always does when she’s embarrassed and oh man, it’s so true.
“It’s not crazy; hell, I’ve been doing it to you all summer. Works like magic.”
“It- you’ve been doing it? Please, if anything I’ve been the one- “
“AH-HA,” he shouts, and she bats his waving hand out of her face with a scowl.
“Calm down, Jesus. Sometimes I can’t believe you’re thirty-four.”
“So you admit it. You totally meant to sleep with me all those times.”
Robin sighs heavily, pushes hair out of her face. “Of course I meant to, you idiot. You really think you’re so charming that I’d be overpowered by your awesomeness and fall into bed with you against my will?”
He frowns a little. “Yes?”
“Wow. You’re so lucky I can’t find my gun right now.”
That makes him jerk back from his happy ‘Robin-maybe-likes-me’ place; he takes a cautious step backwards, towards the safety of the coffee table. “So. If you wanted to sleep with me, and I mean, who wouldn’t, why didn’t you just say so?”
She waves a frustrated hand, and okay, she looks kind of mad. “Oh, I don’t know Barney, maybe because I’ve seen the way you are with women and because you’re one of the people I care about the most and because this kind of stuff usually ends terribly with everyone hating each other?” All her fight dissipates and she slumps into herself, and it’s so not Robin that he blinks. “This stuff is hard. And it’s inconvenient, and once it stops being an accident there’s all this other crap you have to deal with too, and- I don’t know. ”
Something catches a little in his throat. “You’d want it to be other stuff, too?” His voice comes out kind of embarrassingly small, and he mentally kicks himself for the lapsed moment of Ted-itude, sinks onto the lone bar-stool by the counter.
“Oh my god,” she says, pressing a hand over her eyes. “Can we please just, I don’t know, fight about hockey or something instead?”
Barney almost says yes, almost lets it go. But then he thinks about how much Lily will yell when he tells her about this, and how weird it is to think that Robin’s afraid of anything, and how much he sort-of-liked it when she kissed him good-bye that one time. He thinks about Ted, prepping his lectures all those hours and freaking out but still doing it. Still taking the chance.
So instead he folds his arms. “I’m not going to fight with you, Scherbatsky. And hockey sucks; it’s like the lame Canadian excuse for football.”
“You- what?”
He takes a deep breath. “Have dinner with me. Tonight, have dinner with me.”
Arms cross over her chest to mirror him, and she frowns the tiniest bit. “I have dinner with you every Friday. And you don’t even like football. You just like betting on things.”
“You know what I mean. You, me, not the whole crowd.”
She quirks a cautious eyebrow, but amusement’s curling lightly at the corner of her lips. “Are you asking me on a date?”
It doesn’t look like she’s going to hit him, which is good. Barney shrugs, tries to make like he’s not on the verge of a panic attack or anything. “No pressure. Just dinner. But if you expect me to put out, I’m just saying: not until you have dinner with me.”
A surprised laugh breaks out. “Okay, so you’re not asking me on a date, you’re bribing me on a date. With sex.”
“Now you’ve got it.”
“You’re unbelievable.” She purses her lips, looks at him for a long moment and this is one of those times Barney really wishes he could do that Jedi mind-reading shit. “You’re really serious about this. I don’t believe it: Barney Stinson, passing on commitment-free sex in favor of dinner.”
“Welllll,” he says, drawing it out, because… really. “I mean, you’ll still come home with me at the end of the night, right?”
“Totally beyond hope,” but she’s smiling a real smile now, that familiar crooked Robin grin that he knows means she thinks he’s an idiot but still kind of great in spite of it. “How do you even function in the world?”
“I’m taking that as a compliment.”
“You really shouldn’t.” Her teeth catch her bottom lip as she chews thoughtfully on her straw. “No pressure?”
“Please, do I look like I’m planning on kidnapping you and dragging you to the suburbs anytime soon? I’m not Ted.”,
Robin squints at him, slides her empty glass onto the kitchen counter with a flick of determination. “Okay, fine. But we’re going somewhere I can get a cheeseburger. And you’re paying.”
“Of course.” He hops off his stool, throws out an elbow. “Shall we?”
“Right now?”
He winks. “No time like the present, am I right?” Sure, she rolls her eyes, but after she grabs her purse she totally tucks her arm through his. “Besides,” and he’s grinning so hard that his face hurts, “I’m starving. If you gave me a choice between naked Scarlett Johansson and a steak right now, I’d probably pick the steak.”
“Good to know you’ve got your priorities straight. Gotta fill up before you fill… up.” She thumps his arm, starts pushing him toward the door and shamefully ignores his attempt at a backwards fist-bump, which he’s pretty sure is a violation of the Bro Code. “Get a move on, will you? Burgers wait for no man.”
-
Muffled clanging in his kitchen pulls Barney out of sleep the next morning; he throws up a hand to block the sunlight filtering through the blinds, tries to savor waking up for like two more seconds. He’s tired and sore and… good. Really good. Awesomely good, even, since his pillow still smells a little like Robin.
A cabinet bangs shut in the vicinity and he rolls, escapes the sheets to pull on boxers before he pads out of his bedroom in search of the missing Scherbatsky.
His feet stop just outside the entryway because- she’s there in his kitchen, fiddling with his stove in her wrinkled, unzipped cocktail dress from yesterday, hair loose and tangled around her shoulders. “Hey,” she tosses distractedly over her shoulder. “I’m on my way out, just making some tea so I don’t fall asleep on the subway. I don’t know how you drink this green ginseng shit.”
His neck is going all hot and prickly and wow, why does it suddenly feel like a sauna in here? His fingers clench on the counter because this is terrifyingly close to domestic and oh god, what has he done, now he’s gonna have to marry her and she’ll break his heart and it’s getting a little hard to breathe so he reaches desperately for his six word last resort. “That dress,” and it barely comes out, his voice is so weak, “makes you look fat…? ” He presses both palms against the doorframe until the edges bite into his skin. Hopes he’s not sweating too visibly.
Robin barely spares him a glance. “Nice try, but we both know I look awesome in this.”
He swallows, nods, and doesn’t protest when she shoves a mug into his hands.
“I really am going,” she says. “No pressure, remember? Besides, this was your idea.”
“Right,” and he sips his tea as reality comes back, slowly. The adrenalin edge starts to dissipate, leaves him flat and clear. “Sorry.”
Watching him, she leans against the counter. Cradles her mug. “You’re a wreck, you know that?”
He stares into the tea, and he can’t believe he’s fucked this all up already. “Are you mad?”
His gaze snaps up when she bursts out laughing. “Are you kidding? You being calm about this stuff was freaking the crap out of me.” The corners of her eyes are crinkling up with what might be delight, and he thinks he should probably feel a little insulted. “I’m just glad regular Barney’s still in there, somewhere.”
It’s totally a dig, he knows that, but it still makes his chest flood with funny, unexpected warmth. “Cool,” and the smile feels good on his face, pulling at his cheeks.
“Okay, I’m out.” She puts the mug down, turns. “Can you finish zipping me?’
His fingers linger on her back as he pulls the zipper up, going tooth by tooth because from this angle he can see down her dress and she’s totally not any wearing underwear. It’s probably monumentally stupid after what he just pulled but he leans in anyway, presses a light kiss to her skin, just above the clasp at her collar. He lets his thumb trail along her shoulder when she turns and he swallows, opens his mouth to say goodbye but the words get lost when her lips press into his.
It seems like maybe she meant to give him a chaste sort of goodbye kiss, but then he can’t help it, he cups her chin in his hands and she opens her mouth into his and any chance of ‘chaste’ flies out the window. She’s tugging him back and he stumbles, ends up blindly pressing her back into the door of his refrigerator as they kiss and kiss and kiss, lots of tongue and groping hands until she’s palming him through the fabric of his boxers and he’s got her dress shoved up to her belly button, fingers sliding between her legs.
He wraps his other hand around the back of her knee, tries hitching her leg up but they overbalance and gravity takes over; they end up sprawled on the tile. Robin’s not deterred; she slides smoothly up astride his stomach as she stretches for her purse, digs through it to produce a condom.
“You’re really into the floor, aren’t you?” and he runs fingers along her triceps, up and down as she tears at the plastic wrapper. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s pretty hot.”
She shrugs, shoots him a smirk as he slicks an open-mouthed kiss onto her palm. “I don’t discriminate. But the floor is usually handy.”
“True story,” and then she rolls the condom on, and Barney stops thinking for a while.
-
“Whoops,” Robin grins later into his collarbone as his heartbeat starts slowing back to normal, and he laughs. Her hand strokes up one of the fading surgical scars along his ribcage, curls in his hair, and he waits to feel smothered, waits for the usual restlessness, but it doesn’t come. His brain stays quiet, catalogs her toes wiggling along the arch of his foot and the soft push of her stomach against his.
She pushes off his shoulders, sits up to roll off his hips in a way that’s not at all graceful. “Okay, really am leaving now,” and then she’s looming over him as she attempts to smooth her dress back down into something approximating neat. “You coming to the bar tonight?”
“Probably,” he says, lets his eyes drift shut contentedly. The bathroom door creaks open, closed, and a second later he hears the steady hiss of the tap. The next thing he knows something’s digging into his ribcage, and when he blinks lids open to investigate, it’s Robin nudging him with the pointy tip of her shoe, jacket on and looking bemused.
“You planning on getting up anytime soon, champ?”
He reaches out, wraps fingers around her heel. “You could stay?”
She chuckles a little. “Oh, no,” and her foot wriggles out of his grasp. “I’ll see you later.” Robin pauses at the door to smile sweetly back at him. “Get off the floor and take a shower, Barney. You smell like a hobo.”
The door clicks shut behind her. “A sexy hobo!” he shouts, and he can hear her laughter through the wall, all the way down the hallway to the elevator. He folds his arms behind his head, grins to himself as he stares up at the ceiling, tiles cool against his back. All in all, he’s gonna have to put this down as a pretty good summer. Definitely a good summer, because he’s sure now that this- whatever this turns out to be- well.
Whatever happens, this is gonna be awesome.
-
the end (sorry, Aaron Sorkin)