75 Skills Barney Stinson Has Mastered: Part 3/5
Title: 75 Skills Barney Stinson Has Mastered: Part 3/5
Author: just_3_apples
Fandom: How I Met Your Mother
Pairing: Barney/Robin
Rating: This part is the tamest so far, I think. Probably PG-13ish
A/N: Based on Esquire's 75 Skills Every Man Should Master. Post-S3, so spoilers up through Miracles. Since 75 is KIND OF A LOT, this will be posted in sets of fifteen -- one drabble per skill. Parts one and two.
31. Make a bed
After she had made her speech, her words and intentions so clear even he couldn't find a way around them, he'd slid into his usual smirk, forcing a high five to keep up appearances.
When she'd made her way into the shower, he'd watched her. He knew she knew he'd be watching, so he did. He was Barney Stinson, go-to one-night-stand, sometimes bro, constant letch.
She had a nice ass, anyway, roles aside.
He had waited until he heard the water start before getting up. And even if it wasn't normal procedure, he'd carefully, meticulously made her bed, smoothing out the sheets until they were as crease-free as the suit jacket he was sliding on as the water stopped.
He'd slipped out the door then.
It never happened. True then, and all signs pointed to true now.
32. Describe a glass of wine in one sentence without using the terms nutty, fruity, oaky, finish, or kick.
She tried not to watch anymore. She couldn't have explained exactly why. Part of it was having been there.
A bigger part was knowing that she hadn't, really. It had been different.
"She's not even that pretty," Lily murmured conspiratorially, looking across the bar at the willowy, stupid-looking brunette with the bad extensions. Robin spared a glance in their direction, trying to come off as casually as possible.
"Mmmm." She didn't mean to hear, when the idiotic girl offered him a sip of her chardonnay. Lightweight's drink. "Smooth. Sweet. Just enough sass, but yet elegant. I'm sure you can relate."
Robin whipped her head back to look at Lily as the moronic slut giggled. "I guess. Why do you care?"
Lily tried to look as innocent as possible, smiling. "I don't."
33. Hit a jump shot in pool
When the others couldn't make it to the bar one night, they did their usual thing and hung out together. It was better without the others being lame, anyway. Especially with Lily constantly watching him, and Ted still going on about Stella. Like they needed to hear any more about the wonder of being in love.
Please.
They didn't go to MacLaren's. That was a group place. When they were on their own, with the night stretched out before them to do with as they pleased, they found places they could smoke, and gamble (Robin let him!) and generally do everything the others frowned upon.
They did in the old days, anyway. This was different. Weird.
Barney paid for her drink, like always. She tried to protest, and he waved it off with an internal wince. This new place they'd found had a pool table, and of course they ended up playing, suit jackets coming off easily.
He didn't know exactly what he did, but when he hit a jump shot and shouted his glee, Robin narrowed her eyes in that way that told him, instantly, that someone (usually Ted) had fucked up.
He hid it by turning his attention to the onlooking blonde who'd cheered at that shot. It turned out she was a real cheerleader, too, and when Barney tried to find Robin to tell her the news (because they were friends and bros, right?), he caught sight of her slipping out and hailing a cab.
He went home with the blonde after trying to teach her to like Scotch. She thought it tasted like toothpaste.
34. Dress a wound.
No, she wasn't mad at him. She'd just been tired.
The platitudes and excuses came easily enough when she saw him at the bar with the others the next night. She didn't think he believed her, but he let it go.
"So, guess who nailed a NYU cheerleader last night?" he asked the table, holding his hand out for high fives.
Robin rolled her eyes. Lily shot her a worried look -- she wondered if she had something in her teeth -- and Ted, actually enthusiastic for once, asked, "And? You've had cheerleaders before."
"Oh, Ted. One must never turn one's nose up at any woman who chooses to do something that employs a uniform that can also double as a slutty Halloween costume. I thought you'd started keeping up with my blog." Barney shook his head.
Ted heaved a sigh, and Barney's arm brushed her side in the booth.
It was too much for her. She was suffocating. She scanned the table, anxious for an excuse to get up.
"I'll get the next round. Be right back."
Robin tore out of the booth so fast, she was surprised she didn't leave cartoon dust in her wake. Her movements were choppy, unfocused -- or were they too focused? She felt like she was concentrating much too hard on just ordering drinks, trying to tune out the conversation at the table.
"Damn it!" She hadn't meant to yank the bills out of her wallet so fast, but now there was a tiny, bright red papercut stretched across her right index finger.
She forgot it until she absently sucked on it to dull the smarting later, when Ted had meandered off to Stella's and the conversation turned to Marshall's latest obsession -- trying to Rickroll people.
"Marshall, please. Try to keep up with the -- Scherbatsky, when did you regress to toddlerhood?"
"Hmm?" Robin guiltily dropped the hand to her lap. "What? I got a papercut. It hurts."
"I have a bandaid!" Lily offered, eyes wide. She ignored Robin's insistence that that wasn't necessary, especially when she saw it was a Scooby-Doo bandaid ("They make me feel better," Marshall said, smiling as though that was not at all weird at all. Married people were bizarre.) "Here, Barney! You help her put it on."
Lily held out the bandaid expectantly, even as Robin and Barney both stared, nonplussed. "...okay."
Robin wasn't aware she'd bitten her lip as Barney carefully wound the tiny, green plastic strip around her finger until she caught sight of Lily's wide, pleased eyes.
"So, Marshall, you just embed it in a link and trick people?" she asked, brushing the whole thing off.
Lily's face fell.
35. Jump-start a car (without any drama). Change a flat tire (safely). Change the oil (once).
"So what are you even doing in New Jersey?" he asked, stepping, perfectly groomed -- as always -- out of the cab.
He couldn't even see her yet. He didn't know why she'd called him, when she could have tried Lily, or Ted, but here he was.
"Ugh, stupid errand for work," Robin's voice came from under the...front...popped-up thing that covered the moving parts. "I'm trying to suck up to the boss. I'm thinking I'll just start wearing even lower-cut shirts and looking hotter."
She shut it, looking up and smearing some grease across her forehead as she brushed her hair out of her eyes. He resisted the urge to wipe it away for her, and instead, gave her a slow, skeptical once-over. "Yeah, I'm sure that'll work."
He actually was pretty sure it would.
"Yes, Barney, this is what people look like when they work on cars. Did you bring a mechanic?"
"No, but I brought you a clean cab and a flask." He flashed her his inside coat pocket to prove it.
"Good enough."
36. Make three different bets at a craps table.
She found herself thrusting the gambling game pack for xBox that she'd found toward him, red-cheeked, and saying the worst thing she could have possibly said.
She could have easily said that it was a thank you for rescuing her from the horrors of New Jersey (even though he didn't do it that effectively. He didn't even bring a mechanic, which was the one thing she'd asked for.)
She could have said it was to frustrate Ted, who'd probably yell at her for giving it to him. He was so predictable.
But no, what she said was, "I saw this and it made me think of you."
The smile he gave her kept her in high spirits the rest of the night.
37. Shuffle a deck of cards./38. Tell a joke./39. Know when to split his cards in blackjack.
The gift, small though it was (and he actually already had it, but she didn't have to know that; Barney did possess tact sometimes) had been enough to give him the opening to invite her to play poker with him.
He was surprised when she accepted, and even offered to host.
He was less so when she invited Lily and Marshall. (Ted begged off, but charged Lily and Marshall with babysitting him, because he had a 'gambling problem.' Please. It's only a problem if you're bad at it.)
He was surprised when Robin actually seemed impressed at the way he shuffled.
He was less so when she followed it up with, "It didn't even look like you did anything to cheat!" But then, she knew how he played Battleship.
He was surprised when she sat next to him, because their legs brushed together. He almost wondered if it was intentional, a ploy to twist his concentration.
He was less so when Lily smiled adoringly at them. He tried making faces at her to make it stop, but it just seemed to encourage her.
He was surprised when Robin laughed -- hard -- at his dirty joke about the Queen of Hearts.
He was less so when he figured out she'd used the distraction that granted to win the hand.
It didn't matter. He cleaned them out. Blackjack was always his game. None of the others stood a chance in a game that was based on not missing opportunities.
Which, he guessed, was kind of ironic, all things considered.
40. Speak to an eight-year-old so he will hear.
She was pretty sure he didn't think she could hear.
"So what's his name?" Barney was talking to some kid outside her apartment -- he was in Brooklyn anyway (she was fairly certain it had to do with where he'd woken up today; she wasn't asking and refused to think about it) and they were splitting a cab to the bar. He just didn't know her windows were open. Or he wouldn't be like this.
"Cujo. He looks like him, right?"
She peeked out the window, trying to keep him from seeing her if he looked up. She recognized them now, yes. The dog especially. The name really, really didn't fit, considering how sweet that dog was.
"He does," Barney agreed, no hint of condescension to his voice as he leaned down to carefully pet the dog. "Do you live in this building?"
"Yeah!" the kid was saying. "He used to have a lot of friends, but they moved away."
Robin felt a little pang in her chest. She'd have to go upstate and visit the boys soon.
"Yeah," Barney was saying, "if they're the dogs I think you're talking about, they moved to a farm. For real. Not like a she-put-them-down farm."
The little boy eyed him suspiciously. "Then how come she sent them away?"
"Well. Because her boyfriend was being a douche," Barney said matter-of-factly, "and she hadn't realized she could do better. She has now, though, don't worry. Maybe the dogs'll come back."
"Are you her new boyfriend?" the boy asked after a beat.
Robin turned away from the window to get her jacket, then. She didn't want to hear the answer.
41. Speak to a waiter so he will hear.
When MacLaren's hired a new waiter to join Wendy, he didn't know what to do. It wasn't just that he couldn't flirt with this one and charm his way to free drinks -- though he'd learned from the Platinum Rule, anyway.
No, it was the fact that he wasn't the one doing that anymore. Every wink Robin gave the new kid (and that was what he was -- the little jerk was probably barely twenty-one. She was old enough to be his...okay, his big sister, but still!) earned them more and more privileges, until he had to take matters into his own hands.
"Blake," he said (and honestly -- Blake?), smiling conspiratorially when the others were busy otherwise, going up and clapping him on the shoulder. "You and I should talk." He slipped the envelope of cash into the boy's pocket, speaking to him in low tones.
Two days later, Blake quit. No one could figure why, though Carl told them it was 'personal reasons.' Barney tried not to let on.
42. Talk to a dog so it will hear.
Her doorbell was ringing at 3 am. "What."
It wasn't a question. It was a grunt.
"I need you to let me up." Barney's voice came over the intercom.
She didn't know what to do with that. But she did run and brush her teeth in the time it took him to climb the stairs. If this was a booty call, she might as well have fresh breath while telling him to fuck off, right? Right. And that was what she was going to do.
All thoughts of that nature quickly dispersed as soon as she opened her door to see Barney holding a tiny, shivering puppy. "I don't know what to do with it," he admitted, and she could tell the grumpiness was an act. Mostly because when she went to find some of the food she still had, she could hear him cooing to it in her living room.
He'd ended up sleeping on her couch, next to the puppy and the ticking clock she'd given to the cause in the basket.
It turned out to belong to someone in his neighborhood, but Robin was almost sorry to see it go, if it meant she lost that side of him. She'd never seen him that affectionate.
Maybe once. But that was definitely different. And had about as much chance of recurring.
43. Install: a disposal, an electronic thermostat, or a lighting fixture without asking for help.
He prepared the awesome, death-defying story he'd tell them at the bar as he checked into his hotel, and flipped on the TV as soon as he got to his room to change out of his smoky clothes.
"Tragedy nearly struck this afternoon -- " came a low, familiar voice. He jerked his head out of the bathroom.
"Fuck!"
" -- when thirty-two year-old businessman Barney Stinson attempted to install a lighting fixture in his home and succeeded in igniting his ceiling. How could that be possible? How could anyone be so stupid and reckless? We'll find out that and more, up next. I'm Robin Scherbatsky, for Metro News One."
And then his phone was ringing.
44. Ask for help.
She had laughed for a really, really long time when he'd asked her to help him change his lightbulbs after that.
"Lily won't let Marshall, or I'd let him!" he argued, almost blushing. "She's afraid my apartment'll electrocute him. And Ted's hair is already a fire hazard on its own."
45. Break another man's grip on his wrist.
He didn't know when he'd decided it, but in another burst of nerve, he found himself acting on impulse. He was done with it. All of this. He'd come to his realization months and months ago, and she deserved to hear it. No -- to hell with her, since she didn't even seem to care. He had to tell her. He had to make her see. She wasn't Shannon, she wouldn't -- he knew. She wouldn't. She'd see.
She had to see.
He strode into the bar, determined, and caught sight of her. She looked...like Robin. It was bizarre how, after a passage of time, that had come to mean that his normal slew of adjectives weren't adequate.
She was cornered by some guy over by the jukebox, which was irrelevant. He made his way over, past the guy so very in her personal space. "Hey, let her breathe, jackass," he said, clumsier than usual. He didn't know why adding emotion to these things made it so much less like second nature.
"I'm just talking to her," the guy said, catching his wrist. He could smell the beer -- so tacky.
Barney neatly rotated his arm out of the man's grip. "She's not interested."
"Maybe she could tell me that," the guy slurred, glaring at him and giving Robin a smarmy look that Barney wanted nothing more than to punch off.
Or pay someone else to. He was kind of a lot bigger.
"She's with me." The words were out of his mouth before he'd known he was saying them. He turned his head, looking at her as he spoke. Her eyes were wide. "Back off. She's better than you. And she's with me. I...she's with me."
And there it was. It was less than smooth, far from the impassioned, perfect speech he'd written in his head on the cab ride to find her, but he meant every word. It had been so long since that'd been true.
The guy processed that, taking a step back. "You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend," he accused, glaring her way. Barney ignored the scary little bolt that went through his stomach at that word.
He felt Robin shrug. "Sorry." Her voice sounded different. Less certain.
The guy waited a moment before striding off, and Robin relaxed. "Thanks," she sighed, her hand touching his arm and he could feel the warmth all the way through his suit.
"What?" He needed his composure back. He couldn't find it. He needed her to say something -- anything -- in response to the fact that he'd just ripped his heart and laid it out there on the table for her to inspect and inevitably reject.
"He would not back off. Thanks for playing overprotective boyfriend," she said, smiling up at him.
He concentrated on the color in her cheeks, the way she was smiling, finding that much-needed control. Of course. "Oh. Yeah, of course. He was so below you."
"Well, he was trying to be."
Something in her face shifted, and he found himself studying her. And she wasn't -- for once -- looking away immediately.
If there was anything Barney could claim as a talent, above all else, it was his ability to read women. Their movements, their bodies, their faces. Every nuance of a hair-toss or lowered gaze was just another move in the game. And if there was any face whose subtleties and variation and practiced lies and looks he'd memorized, it was this one.
She was talking herself into this, making the words ring true in her head. And unless he was very mistaken, she didn't believe herself.
"Um. I'm going back to the booth," she said softly. It couldn't have lasted longer than five or six seconds. Just long enough to commit that look to memory.
She wasn't and never would be a conquest. But she wouldn't be Robin unless she was a challenge.
"I'll be right along," he said, nodding as he took a gentlemanly step back.
She slipped back into her normal, detached smile, heading to the booth. He watched her go.
Oh, it was on.
Author: just_3_apples
Fandom: How I Met Your Mother
Pairing: Barney/Robin
Rating: This part is the tamest so far, I think. Probably PG-13ish
A/N: Based on Esquire's 75 Skills Every Man Should Master. Post-S3, so spoilers up through Miracles. Since 75 is KIND OF A LOT, this will be posted in sets of fifteen -- one drabble per skill. Parts one and two.
31. Make a bed
After she had made her speech, her words and intentions so clear even he couldn't find a way around them, he'd slid into his usual smirk, forcing a high five to keep up appearances.
When she'd made her way into the shower, he'd watched her. He knew she knew he'd be watching, so he did. He was Barney Stinson, go-to one-night-stand, sometimes bro, constant letch.
She had a nice ass, anyway, roles aside.
He had waited until he heard the water start before getting up. And even if it wasn't normal procedure, he'd carefully, meticulously made her bed, smoothing out the sheets until they were as crease-free as the suit jacket he was sliding on as the water stopped.
He'd slipped out the door then.
It never happened. True then, and all signs pointed to true now.
32. Describe a glass of wine in one sentence without using the terms nutty, fruity, oaky, finish, or kick.
She tried not to watch anymore. She couldn't have explained exactly why. Part of it was having been there.
A bigger part was knowing that she hadn't, really. It had been different.
"She's not even that pretty," Lily murmured conspiratorially, looking across the bar at the willowy, stupid-looking brunette with the bad extensions. Robin spared a glance in their direction, trying to come off as casually as possible.
"Mmmm." She didn't mean to hear, when the idiotic girl offered him a sip of her chardonnay. Lightweight's drink. "Smooth. Sweet. Just enough sass, but yet elegant. I'm sure you can relate."
Robin whipped her head back to look at Lily as the moronic slut giggled. "I guess. Why do you care?"
Lily tried to look as innocent as possible, smiling. "I don't."
33. Hit a jump shot in pool
When the others couldn't make it to the bar one night, they did their usual thing and hung out together. It was better without the others being lame, anyway. Especially with Lily constantly watching him, and Ted still going on about Stella. Like they needed to hear any more about the wonder of being in love.
Please.
They didn't go to MacLaren's. That was a group place. When they were on their own, with the night stretched out before them to do with as they pleased, they found places they could smoke, and gamble (Robin let him!) and generally do everything the others frowned upon.
They did in the old days, anyway. This was different. Weird.
Barney paid for her drink, like always. She tried to protest, and he waved it off with an internal wince. This new place they'd found had a pool table, and of course they ended up playing, suit jackets coming off easily.
He didn't know exactly what he did, but when he hit a jump shot and shouted his glee, Robin narrowed her eyes in that way that told him, instantly, that someone (usually Ted) had fucked up.
He hid it by turning his attention to the onlooking blonde who'd cheered at that shot. It turned out she was a real cheerleader, too, and when Barney tried to find Robin to tell her the news (because they were friends and bros, right?), he caught sight of her slipping out and hailing a cab.
He went home with the blonde after trying to teach her to like Scotch. She thought it tasted like toothpaste.
34. Dress a wound.
No, she wasn't mad at him. She'd just been tired.
The platitudes and excuses came easily enough when she saw him at the bar with the others the next night. She didn't think he believed her, but he let it go.
"So, guess who nailed a NYU cheerleader last night?" he asked the table, holding his hand out for high fives.
Robin rolled her eyes. Lily shot her a worried look -- she wondered if she had something in her teeth -- and Ted, actually enthusiastic for once, asked, "And? You've had cheerleaders before."
"Oh, Ted. One must never turn one's nose up at any woman who chooses to do something that employs a uniform that can also double as a slutty Halloween costume. I thought you'd started keeping up with my blog." Barney shook his head.
Ted heaved a sigh, and Barney's arm brushed her side in the booth.
It was too much for her. She was suffocating. She scanned the table, anxious for an excuse to get up.
"I'll get the next round. Be right back."
Robin tore out of the booth so fast, she was surprised she didn't leave cartoon dust in her wake. Her movements were choppy, unfocused -- or were they too focused? She felt like she was concentrating much too hard on just ordering drinks, trying to tune out the conversation at the table.
"Damn it!" She hadn't meant to yank the bills out of her wallet so fast, but now there was a tiny, bright red papercut stretched across her right index finger.
She forgot it until she absently sucked on it to dull the smarting later, when Ted had meandered off to Stella's and the conversation turned to Marshall's latest obsession -- trying to Rickroll people.
"Marshall, please. Try to keep up with the -- Scherbatsky, when did you regress to toddlerhood?"
"Hmm?" Robin guiltily dropped the hand to her lap. "What? I got a papercut. It hurts."
"I have a bandaid!" Lily offered, eyes wide. She ignored Robin's insistence that that wasn't necessary, especially when she saw it was a Scooby-Doo bandaid ("They make me feel better," Marshall said, smiling as though that was not at all weird at all. Married people were bizarre.) "Here, Barney! You help her put it on."
Lily held out the bandaid expectantly, even as Robin and Barney both stared, nonplussed. "...okay."
Robin wasn't aware she'd bitten her lip as Barney carefully wound the tiny, green plastic strip around her finger until she caught sight of Lily's wide, pleased eyes.
"So, Marshall, you just embed it in a link and trick people?" she asked, brushing the whole thing off.
Lily's face fell.
35. Jump-start a car (without any drama). Change a flat tire (safely). Change the oil (once).
"So what are you even doing in New Jersey?" he asked, stepping, perfectly groomed -- as always -- out of the cab.
He couldn't even see her yet. He didn't know why she'd called him, when she could have tried Lily, or Ted, but here he was.
"Ugh, stupid errand for work," Robin's voice came from under the...front...popped-up thing that covered the moving parts. "I'm trying to suck up to the boss. I'm thinking I'll just start wearing even lower-cut shirts and looking hotter."
She shut it, looking up and smearing some grease across her forehead as she brushed her hair out of her eyes. He resisted the urge to wipe it away for her, and instead, gave her a slow, skeptical once-over. "Yeah, I'm sure that'll work."
He actually was pretty sure it would.
"Yes, Barney, this is what people look like when they work on cars. Did you bring a mechanic?"
"No, but I brought you a clean cab and a flask." He flashed her his inside coat pocket to prove it.
"Good enough."
36. Make three different bets at a craps table.
She found herself thrusting the gambling game pack for xBox that she'd found toward him, red-cheeked, and saying the worst thing she could have possibly said.
She could have easily said that it was a thank you for rescuing her from the horrors of New Jersey (even though he didn't do it that effectively. He didn't even bring a mechanic, which was the one thing she'd asked for.)
She could have said it was to frustrate Ted, who'd probably yell at her for giving it to him. He was so predictable.
But no, what she said was, "I saw this and it made me think of you."
The smile he gave her kept her in high spirits the rest of the night.
37. Shuffle a deck of cards./38. Tell a joke./39. Know when to split his cards in blackjack.
The gift, small though it was (and he actually already had it, but she didn't have to know that; Barney did possess tact sometimes) had been enough to give him the opening to invite her to play poker with him.
He was surprised when she accepted, and even offered to host.
He was less so when she invited Lily and Marshall. (Ted begged off, but charged Lily and Marshall with babysitting him, because he had a 'gambling problem.' Please. It's only a problem if you're bad at it.)
He was surprised when Robin actually seemed impressed at the way he shuffled.
He was less so when she followed it up with, "It didn't even look like you did anything to cheat!" But then, she knew how he played Battleship.
He was surprised when she sat next to him, because their legs brushed together. He almost wondered if it was intentional, a ploy to twist his concentration.
He was less so when Lily smiled adoringly at them. He tried making faces at her to make it stop, but it just seemed to encourage her.
He was surprised when Robin laughed -- hard -- at his dirty joke about the Queen of Hearts.
He was less so when he figured out she'd used the distraction that granted to win the hand.
It didn't matter. He cleaned them out. Blackjack was always his game. None of the others stood a chance in a game that was based on not missing opportunities.
Which, he guessed, was kind of ironic, all things considered.
40. Speak to an eight-year-old so he will hear.
She was pretty sure he didn't think she could hear.
"So what's his name?" Barney was talking to some kid outside her apartment -- he was in Brooklyn anyway (she was fairly certain it had to do with where he'd woken up today; she wasn't asking and refused to think about it) and they were splitting a cab to the bar. He just didn't know her windows were open. Or he wouldn't be like this.
"Cujo. He looks like him, right?"
She peeked out the window, trying to keep him from seeing her if he looked up. She recognized them now, yes. The dog especially. The name really, really didn't fit, considering how sweet that dog was.
"He does," Barney agreed, no hint of condescension to his voice as he leaned down to carefully pet the dog. "Do you live in this building?"
"Yeah!" the kid was saying. "He used to have a lot of friends, but they moved away."
Robin felt a little pang in her chest. She'd have to go upstate and visit the boys soon.
"Yeah," Barney was saying, "if they're the dogs I think you're talking about, they moved to a farm. For real. Not like a she-put-them-down farm."
The little boy eyed him suspiciously. "Then how come she sent them away?"
"Well. Because her boyfriend was being a douche," Barney said matter-of-factly, "and she hadn't realized she could do better. She has now, though, don't worry. Maybe the dogs'll come back."
"Are you her new boyfriend?" the boy asked after a beat.
Robin turned away from the window to get her jacket, then. She didn't want to hear the answer.
41. Speak to a waiter so he will hear.
When MacLaren's hired a new waiter to join Wendy, he didn't know what to do. It wasn't just that he couldn't flirt with this one and charm his way to free drinks -- though he'd learned from the Platinum Rule, anyway.
No, it was the fact that he wasn't the one doing that anymore. Every wink Robin gave the new kid (and that was what he was -- the little jerk was probably barely twenty-one. She was old enough to be his...okay, his big sister, but still!) earned them more and more privileges, until he had to take matters into his own hands.
"Blake," he said (and honestly -- Blake?), smiling conspiratorially when the others were busy otherwise, going up and clapping him on the shoulder. "You and I should talk." He slipped the envelope of cash into the boy's pocket, speaking to him in low tones.
Two days later, Blake quit. No one could figure why, though Carl told them it was 'personal reasons.' Barney tried not to let on.
42. Talk to a dog so it will hear.
Her doorbell was ringing at 3 am. "What."
It wasn't a question. It was a grunt.
"I need you to let me up." Barney's voice came over the intercom.
She didn't know what to do with that. But she did run and brush her teeth in the time it took him to climb the stairs. If this was a booty call, she might as well have fresh breath while telling him to fuck off, right? Right. And that was what she was going to do.
All thoughts of that nature quickly dispersed as soon as she opened her door to see Barney holding a tiny, shivering puppy. "I don't know what to do with it," he admitted, and she could tell the grumpiness was an act. Mostly because when she went to find some of the food she still had, she could hear him cooing to it in her living room.
He'd ended up sleeping on her couch, next to the puppy and the ticking clock she'd given to the cause in the basket.
It turned out to belong to someone in his neighborhood, but Robin was almost sorry to see it go, if it meant she lost that side of him. She'd never seen him that affectionate.
Maybe once. But that was definitely different. And had about as much chance of recurring.
43. Install: a disposal, an electronic thermostat, or a lighting fixture without asking for help.
He prepared the awesome, death-defying story he'd tell them at the bar as he checked into his hotel, and flipped on the TV as soon as he got to his room to change out of his smoky clothes.
"Tragedy nearly struck this afternoon -- " came a low, familiar voice. He jerked his head out of the bathroom.
"Fuck!"
" -- when thirty-two year-old businessman Barney Stinson attempted to install a lighting fixture in his home and succeeded in igniting his ceiling. How could that be possible? How could anyone be so stupid and reckless? We'll find out that and more, up next. I'm Robin Scherbatsky, for Metro News One."
And then his phone was ringing.
44. Ask for help.
She had laughed for a really, really long time when he'd asked her to help him change his lightbulbs after that.
"Lily won't let Marshall, or I'd let him!" he argued, almost blushing. "She's afraid my apartment'll electrocute him. And Ted's hair is already a fire hazard on its own."
45. Break another man's grip on his wrist.
He didn't know when he'd decided it, but in another burst of nerve, he found himself acting on impulse. He was done with it. All of this. He'd come to his realization months and months ago, and she deserved to hear it. No -- to hell with her, since she didn't even seem to care. He had to tell her. He had to make her see. She wasn't Shannon, she wouldn't -- he knew. She wouldn't. She'd see.
She had to see.
He strode into the bar, determined, and caught sight of her. She looked...like Robin. It was bizarre how, after a passage of time, that had come to mean that his normal slew of adjectives weren't adequate.
She was cornered by some guy over by the jukebox, which was irrelevant. He made his way over, past the guy so very in her personal space. "Hey, let her breathe, jackass," he said, clumsier than usual. He didn't know why adding emotion to these things made it so much less like second nature.
"I'm just talking to her," the guy said, catching his wrist. He could smell the beer -- so tacky.
Barney neatly rotated his arm out of the man's grip. "She's not interested."
"Maybe she could tell me that," the guy slurred, glaring at him and giving Robin a smarmy look that Barney wanted nothing more than to punch off.
Or pay someone else to. He was kind of a lot bigger.
"She's with me." The words were out of his mouth before he'd known he was saying them. He turned his head, looking at her as he spoke. Her eyes were wide. "Back off. She's better than you. And she's with me. I...she's with me."
And there it was. It was less than smooth, far from the impassioned, perfect speech he'd written in his head on the cab ride to find her, but he meant every word. It had been so long since that'd been true.
The guy processed that, taking a step back. "You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend," he accused, glaring her way. Barney ignored the scary little bolt that went through his stomach at that word.
He felt Robin shrug. "Sorry." Her voice sounded different. Less certain.
The guy waited a moment before striding off, and Robin relaxed. "Thanks," she sighed, her hand touching his arm and he could feel the warmth all the way through his suit.
"What?" He needed his composure back. He couldn't find it. He needed her to say something -- anything -- in response to the fact that he'd just ripped his heart and laid it out there on the table for her to inspect and inevitably reject.
"He would not back off. Thanks for playing overprotective boyfriend," she said, smiling up at him.
He concentrated on the color in her cheeks, the way she was smiling, finding that much-needed control. Of course. "Oh. Yeah, of course. He was so below you."
"Well, he was trying to be."
Something in her face shifted, and he found himself studying her. And she wasn't -- for once -- looking away immediately.
If there was anything Barney could claim as a talent, above all else, it was his ability to read women. Their movements, their bodies, their faces. Every nuance of a hair-toss or lowered gaze was just another move in the game. And if there was any face whose subtleties and variation and practiced lies and looks he'd memorized, it was this one.
She was talking herself into this, making the words ring true in her head. And unless he was very mistaken, she didn't believe herself.
"Um. I'm going back to the booth," she said softly. It couldn't have lasted longer than five or six seconds. Just long enough to commit that look to memory.
She wasn't and never would be a conquest. But she wouldn't be Robin unless she was a challenge.
"I'll be right along," he said, nodding as he took a gentlemanly step back.
She slipped back into her normal, detached smile, heading to the booth. He watched her go.
Oh, it was on.