Title: Are We Human, Or Are We Dancers?
Type: One Shot
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own anything. But it would be awesome if I did.
Rating: T, mentions of a few mature themes
Ship: Barney/Robin
Spoilers: None.
Summary: She'd taken his heart, then his life, and he didn't mind her taking it all.
Author's Notes: I always find myself having the tendency to make my one shots ridiculously concise but lengthy at the same time (yes, I'm not so sure how that works out either). So, beware. Also, the title is inspired from the Killers song, 'Human'.
—
With her, he laughed a little louder, smiled a little longer and spoke a little softer. His eyes were brighter when they cascaded on her figure as she would push her way into the booth beside him, unknowing that ever time she did, she prodded another entry wound into his heart.
Robin greeted him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. He knew that it wasn't as much as platonic and meaningless as it seemed, but it was something. And something from Robin Scherbatsky counted.
So maybe he should tell her? Barney Stinson had the courage to walk up to any woman and in minutes have her crying, panting, screaming underneath him, but could he tell her he loved her in a way she could understand, and not misinterpret his feelings?
Barney Stinson was a number of things: a womanizer, playboy; carrier of all things awesome. But he was never one for grand gestures, and it would take a very loud proclamation to receive Robin's attention. Public speeches, fireworks, airplane-hooked banners in the sky—they were all things of Ted's or Marshall's forte. They were things romantic men did.
Pfft. Romantics. Why spend all that time and hard earned money on those sort of things when one could be purchasing suits and scoring chicks?
Right.
And then he turned his head to look at Robin and all previous thoughts condensed into thin air. One smell of her perfume or a subtle brush of her skin against his, was enough to leave him in an unforgiving trance.
Barney sighed inwardly, clasping his hands on the booth table in front of him. Even brooding was out of the question for him—he didn't want to be weak, in fact, he refused to show weakness, refused to show anything at all, really.
Because he feared the day that his laughs would boom too loudly into her ears, his smile would last too long for her eyes, and his voice would not spew into anything but a whisper—that Robin would realize how he felt about her and would be chased away.
Because Barney knew Robin. She was scared of being vulnerable; scared of feeling sixteen; scared of having someone have complete hold of her; scared of placing too much trust into someone's hands. And while the others found her smart, funny, and a bearer of long legs that looked great in shorts, he knew that and more.
She was loud, honest, and saw more of him than he was comfortable admitting to and everything she said did not fail to capture his senses.
Sometimes Barney's mind wandered to her, wondering what she was doing, if she were okay, if she needed anything, anything. And when he was naive enough, he would ponder the idea of Robin thinking of him, of her dreaming of him. God knew he already thought and dreamed of her for too many long hours.
Somehow they didn't seem enough.
They were never enough.
—
Robin looked at him from the corner of her eye, watching him take a thorough swig of his beer, his eyes closing for a brief moment as he savored its taste, finding it to his liking.
It seemed that lately all she had been doing was watching him and she had began to realize that it wasn't what she wanted.
No, Robin Scherbatsky didn't want to have her eyes linger on Barney she realized, she wanted to feel his presence. To have him speak in her direction, so she could feel his warmth breath caressing her cheek if she leaned close enough. She wanted to feel his eyes on her, and relish on the tinkling sensation that trickled down her spine when he did.
But Robin didn't understand why.
What was it about Barney that she enjoyed his company and his laughter and his smiles? What was it about him she found too irresistible in her best friend?
Sometimes she had him all figured out, and the next moment she knew nothing about him.
Barney was always such an enigma.
Robin turned her head to gaze at him once more while the rest of the gang laughed at some fatuous quip Marshall had just said.
Barney's face wore a lazy laugh and his eyes sparkled underneath the dim bar lights and it set her on fire the minute they caught her staring. And she hadn't felt that way since...
Ted was her first love, but the way Barney looked at her, looked through her, changed everything.
And Simon had been her first real boyfriend, the first boy she had really liked, except when Robin recalled the night they had broken up (the second time), all she remembered was Barney.
Barney.
And the way his hands traveled over her body, stroking every inch of her, and the way his mouth breathed into her, breathed life into her, making her heart tug and pull for him. That night, Robin knew that nothing had felt more right.
She looked down at her beer glass, noticing how her lip gloss kept smearing against the rim.
Robing sighed, setting it down before standing up, pretending she didn't feel Barney's gaze on her retreating form as she walked away from the booth, excusing herself to go to the washroom.
Again, she wished she knew what he was thinking.
—
"Hey," said Barney, sliding into the seat across from her.
Tonight was the night, he decided, although he couldn't remember precisely when.
Robin looked up, her fingertips lightly grazing the side of her empty beer bottle. It was evident that she had been sitting alone. It was a Wednesday night, after all.
Her eyes looked tired, clad in sweatpants, her brown tresses pushed back into a messy ponytail, while most of her make-up had smeared off.
Barney thought she looked beautiful.
"Hey Barney."
And still, she managed to smile, for him.
There was a nervous fluttering inside of him, pushing, twirling, screaming to be let out as blood rushed to his ears, pounding. He shut his eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath, thinking it over. This was wrong, this was wrong; then why did it feel so right?
"Robin," he stopped to look at her, watching concern etch her features and her eyebrows scrunch in interest, "there's something I need to tell you."
She nodded, urging him to go on, ignoring an ominous feeling swell within her stomach, distracting it by looking down at her glass awkwardly, avoiding his eyes.
Barney thought back to the first time he had told her this, told her he loved her, and watched her misconceive it, thinking of Ted instead.
He winced. As if Ted would be the only man to ever love her.
And maybe it was fate's way of telling Barney that he and Robin weren't meant for each other, that night of course; since when did he ever believe in things being fate or destiny?
So he had to say it, he had to scream it, as if it would be the only way for Robin to understand him.
"Robin, I—" Barney stood up abruptly, his voice escalating dangerously so that her eyes would follow him.
Suddenly all of MacLaren fell silent. The numerous private conversations halted as someone turned off the jukebox, leaving an unsettling silence over the bar. The regulars, the newcomers, the employees, everyone turned to look his way.
All eyes were on them.
Oh god, this was turning into a movie scene.
"What is it, Barney?" she asked, her hands gripping her beer bottle closely, knuckles turning ghost white. Perhaps if she wasn't so concerned about what he had to say, then she would have seen the twenty-four pairs of eyes watching their every move.
Barney reached blindly for her hands.
Breathe, damn it; inhale—exhale—inhale;
"Robin, I love you."
His eyes went unchanged; unconsumed; unblinking; twinkling. He gazed at her soundlessly, his lips twitching like they wanted to say more, but there wasn't more to say.
The bar followed suit. No one dared to move or talk or respire.
"What, what?" Robin gasped, laughing nervously as she unclenched her hand around the bottle, her cheeks marked with a bright, red smear. "I don't... I don't know what to say."
I love you too, Barney—would have been nice.
Immediately she became aware the numerous sympathetic and shocked faces around MacLaren, some giving her spiteful glares for turning down a man who had publicly proclaimed that he loved her. But they had to understand. This was.. this was... uncalled for. This was Barney Stinson.
Tears began to sting the corner of her eyes, and his grip on her hands loosened and he began to back away, clearly expecting to elicit no response from her.
Robin rushed out of her seat, heading to the bar door, forcing, stumbling, breaking her way past everyone. And it wasn't really about running away from him because he was already so far ahead of her in every way, and it was ridiculous trying so hard to be mature by running, pushing, falling, because it wasn't working.
Barney knew this would happen. He knew it, he knew it, and still he had to state it.
It was less painful sitting beside her in that very booth just pretending that he didn't love her. (And at the same time, it wasn't.)
Yet he'd said it and she had been chased away.
—
She cried and cried, until she felt that she could cry no more.
And she could try to make sense of it all, try to make sense of Barney.
They were too different and too alike at the same time; an imperfect balance of each other, she knew.
There was so striking climax, no debates or fights. Life went on as if none of it ever ensued in the first place.
He continued to look at her and Robin continued to look at him, but they were different and everyone could see the hefty shift.
Barney had gotten too close and she wasn't open; wasn't ready.
So Robin ignored it, ignored the entire declaration, like she ignored everything else.
And he clamped his mouth shut, because he wasn't used to fighting for things.
—
She walked into MacLaren's and she couldn't feel her pulse.
Ever since Barney's I love you, no one had really registered either of them again. They assumed they had both reached a mutual understanding of each other, that instantly everything was figured out even though they weren't together.
She stared after him sullenly as he flirted with a busty blonde at the bar, her heart dropping so deep in her that she was afraid she'd never find it again.
Suddenly Robin felt angry because it wasn't fair. What had Barney expected her to do when he professed his feelings? Did he expect her to have told him she loved him? Or should she have kissed him? And now he had her thinking of him constantly, wasting hours day and night, wondering why the hell she was only half as shocked as she should have been when he told her this.
Barney had always known that life wasn't fair. He had his fair share of the deceitful things life hurled at people since he was only a child, when his father left and never came back, when his mother would leave him and James with a babysitter for days and never knowing what she exactly did.
Perhaps that was why Barney always made jokes, even when they weren't necessary; he was afraid that if he didn't, his flippant exterior would crumble.
When he was with Robin, he realized that it wasn't true.
Metaphorically, she ripped his photographs when she saw him with the other woman, when she saw him not seeing her. She tore down the pictures from the high, brittle, glass walls of her heart and somehow, somehow, he turned away from the nescient blonde, eyes catching hers, holding hers, stopping the last picture from being torn down.
The web was tangled and Robin knew that her ties were better off severed with Barney Stinson.
He was hurting her without even trying.
Barney stared at her with his eyes full of curiosity and calamitous and contempt, his heart in his throat, squeezing it so he could no longer speak, only watch. He winced inwardly when he noticed the raw, forlorn gleam in her eyes.
And before he knew it, he was chasing after her out of the bar, footsteps rushing underneath him as the rest of the gang looked on after them.
The night was coming to a close when he caught Robin by the wrist, spinning her around to look at him just ahead of the curve.
"Barney, let me go," she pleaded feebly, prying at his fingers.
"I don't want to," he replied, the fluttering inside of him stirred once more, "and neither do you."
"I don't," she admitted finally, gazing at his brilliantly glowing eyes under the street lights and hazy heat of the summer, licking her lips she continued vigorously, "I want you to tell me you love me, again. I want you to hold me, and kiss me—"
And he was breathing into her again, precisely the way he did the first time, but now he was breathing into her skin, her senses, her heart. She kissed him back forcefully, that much harder, showing, proving, wanting Barney to need her the way she realized she needed to be needed. And he knew this.
"I love you, Scherbatsky."
His warm breath mixed with her warm tears as he held her face in both his hands, and suddenly Barney was kissing them away in the only way he knew how.
She'd taken his heart, then his life, and he didn't mind her taking it all.
—
Their bodies merged—their slick, scorching skin, rubbed together as they made love on his bed.
When it was over and they were done, Barney pulled her into his arms, perhaps in fear that Robin would try to get away from him again. But she didn't. Instead, she clutched onto him as he pulled his full-sized blanket over her, sliding the only pillow on his bed softly underneath her head.
She hadn't said anything, remaining silent because she wasn't so sure if this was real, if this happening was at all real.
And although it felt like a surreal moment, Robin hadn't felt anymore liberated, blissful or loved and at last saw him as not that guy.
She hadn't returned those words, those simple yet powerful three words she knew that Barney wanted, needed to hear, nevertheless she promised herself and silently him as well, that she would when she was prepared.
"What are you thinking about?" Barney asked, propping himself up on his elbow, leaning into her, his lips barely brushed against her ear.
He was not used to openly welcoming conversation with women after sex. Usually he just counting down the seconds before they understood they were no longer welcome.
But he was with Robin, and had kissed her, tasted her and made love to her, and fell in too deep, again.
"How amazing that was," she answered, listening to him laugh, "how amazing you are."
"Don't be modest, Scherbatsky, you weren't so bad yourself," he grinned, raising his left hand above his head at her direction, "what up!"
Her palm met his with a collective smack.
"Where do we stand?" he questioned, lowering his arm, regaining earnestness.
She didn't hesitate to answer.
"I want to take a chance at this. I haven't felt this way in such a long time, and as familiar as it feels, it also feels different, you know? And I just feel so, I don't know, assailable—" Robin paused, clearing her head before regaining her thoughts and continuing, "But I guess that's the thing. I mean, you figured out so much about me when I was trying to be guarded, saved me from deportation, encouraged me to live my life and took care of me when I needed the help, and this is crazy... but that's why I trust it. I trust you, Barney."
It was the most meaningful thing she had said in a long while.
—
When Barney told her he cared for her, before she fell in love, Robin decided she'd spend the rest of her days loving him no matter the consequences.
She wasn't incisively certain when she realized she loved Barney Stinson.
Perhaps because she had known all along—an internal feeling waiting to wash over her like flood.
He never knew that a citizen of Manhattan needed permission from the mayor's office to light up the sky—if one could say that in more definite terms. But Barney was nothing if not dedicated and dare he say, in love, hence he'd wait a hundred more long hours of he had to.
It was finally autumn and after a brutally heated summer, New Yorkers welcomed the new season with open arms when the first cool breeze, at long last, hit the city.
As excruciating as the temperature was, the past few months had been some of the best he had experienced in his life.
He had Robin to thank and as difficult it was to say goodbye to the women of New York, Barney was definite they'd survive, he'd survive.
—
He took her for a stroll through Central Park, her hand subtly clasping his as they paced onward below the last gleaming rays of sunlight.
They weren't that sort of couple. The one to always hold hands, share desserts or whisper secrets into each other's ear. They laughed, and they fought, and they fucked, and it felt like maybe they'd been doing it for a thousand years.
They approached a clearing. The city lights and sounds were far off, smothered by the sounds of rustling trees and crunching leaves they walked over.
Barney turned to her, his lips barely managing to hide a smile.
"You know, Robin," he whistled, "I think this comes before my testimony of love."
She was confused.
"Barney, I'm afraid you've lost me," laughed Robin, her eyes scanning him suspiciously.
"I have? Well then, I guess it's too late for this."
And before she could contemplate or question his reasoning, the evening sky exploded around her.
She jerked away from him in surprise, loud noises detonating into her ears, dazed. Magnificent colors sparked, fired and lit up the air above her before falling to the ground, the magic unfolded.
Each new fountain of multi-color shone on her creamy visage while blazing off of his silken, blond locks all at once.
Robin burst out laughing in glee, recognizing that the fireworks had captivated her in a way nothing else could, excluding him, indubitably.
And upon hearing her laughter, Barney turned to face her and laughed as well.
She stared at him, suddenly aware she'd be with him, in a heartbeat, if he ever needed her.
Which he did, and Robin knew this too.
"I love you, Barney," she unveiled, her voice appeared clear and sealed. She was fine with her insecurities because he needed her, and wanted her, and loved her.
Seizing his lips with hers, she breathed into him, launching herself onto his arms. Accordingly, they stumbled backwards because he was caught off guard.
They laughed trying to balance themselves, the fireworks beginning to die down.
He couldn't move or breathe or think. All around him movement had stopped, yet he hardly noticed, because all he saw were her shimmering eyes and her swollen lips and the curve of her jawline and neck.
Barney would love her for the rest of his life, he knew. And now he was sure what that meant.
Later that night, they made fireworks of their own.
—
They were older now, wiser; able to make decisions they were too naive or appalled to make before.
Robin loved thumbing through Lily's old, worn out photo albums. She loved gliding her slender fingers over the faded pictures, pausing to relive every laugh, every smile, every moment.
Barney was in nearly all of her pictures; her kissing him on his cheek; his arm lazily placed over her shoulder; her pressed against him, grinning wildly; even in some of her unaccompanied photographs. He was in the backdrop.
Sometimes she thought of herself before Barney, reminiscing the nights she lay awake, unable to fall asleep because she wondered what kind of monster she was that ceased her stay in any relationship she had. They would take a step forward, and she'd end up pushing them a million steps back.
There were many holes to fill when each one of them ended; holes Barney came to fill again, whether he wanted to or not.
And for that, she was beyond grateful and amorous. More than he would ever know.
Barney was pretty sure Robin Scherbatsky was very likely insane, and being Canadian had everything to do with it. But he had decided, a long while ago, that he was okay with that.
Her declarations, every single I love you, no matter that he'd expected them, still took his breath away.
Of course, Barney Stinson hadn't stopped with his wise-ass attitude, his jokes, his scheming—however now he did them for the right reasons.
And he wasn't quite convinced where he belonged, but Barney knew that Robin belonged with him.
—
When he came back from a business trip in Shanghai, one that spanned for over a fortnight, he twirled her around in circles and held her tight. He told her how much he'd missed her, and oh god, how he'd missed her.
Robin had hold him she's missed him too, and she knew it was the truth and nothing but, because as she said it, she found herself pulling him that much closer and inhaling the scent of him she had gotten so used to.
Barney asked her if she'd take a walk with him, and she agreed, because frankly there wasn't anything she would rather do.
They promenaded down Madison, his red tie indecisively matched her spring dress.
He stopped them in front of an intersection, shakily pointing at the clear, blue sky as if the end of the world itself was quivering in his hands.
"Robin, look."
And so she did—a little, one-seater plane flew into her vision from behind the statuesque skyscrapers, hauling a banner across the sky.
Marry me, Scherbatsky.
And she was gone, the past four, wondrous years flashing before her eyes; her lips parting slightly as she looked up at him, breathless.
"Barney, I..." Robin had tears in her eyes, and he hated having to be the one to make her cry, but he pushed forward.
"I'm showing you all this because you're the most important and awesome person to me, Robin. Now and probably forever. And I want you so bad all the time, most days it's unbearable and really hard to focus," he confessed, taking her trembling hands in his, staring her straight in the eye, looking through her, "and you want to know what? I need you. I need you like I've said I've needed you before and more. I don't want to go another day without letting you know that I will always love you, and never leave you. And I'm not very good or organized with these types of things and I'm already as embarrassed as hell and you would be cutting me a lot of slack if you would say something... anything."
She took in everything about him, absorbing the line of his mouth, the set of his broad shoulders, the hollow of his throat—every little bit of minutia like ink on white paper. Her heart was beating so wildly in her chest, Robin was sure it would burst.
"Marry me, Scherbatsky." Barney requested simply, mimicking the words of the streamer in the sky.
He wanted to declare his love for this woman in a way he hadn't before; he wanted to do announce it in front of his friends and family. He wanted his mother and James and Ted and Marshall and Lily to all be there.
He wanted her. He wanted her in his family.
"Yes!" she shrieked, smiling as the tears streamed her face, the mascara running down her porcelain cheeks with her cries of delight.
Robin threw her arms around him, her tears heavily staining Barney's suit but he didn't care, everything he was feeling was too true. He cracked one of his cheeky smiles at her.
"Of course, I will!" her voice muffled against his lips as she kissed him passionately, over and over again, each kiss meaning more than the last.
The acquainted roaring came back, and this time when Robin gazed at the sky, she saw the plane flying in the opposite direction, returning to whence it came, pulling along the alternate side of the banner.
Engagement five!
And she did. Her hand slapping his high in the air, her fingers entwining his afterward.
From far off, they looked like two figures tangled with each other like an abstract sculpture, their euphoric laughter penetrating the loudest noises of the surrounding city.
Once, Robin had been waiting for an answer, and when Barney showed up, she felt like she got another question. Yet, she was perfectly fine with that, because an answer meant the end.
And everyone knew that truly it was just the beginning, because nothing involving them ever really ended.