Where?

It was the call that Barney Stinson had always dreaded; the call he knew would inevitably come. But somehow it came way sooner than he'd ever had predicted.

"You're where?" He asked, incredulously.

Robin slurred a few words, one of which he was pretty sure was "Toronto".

"Robin, slow down!" Barney interrupted her. "Why are you in Toronto? No, scratch that! How are you in Toronto. I spoke to you, like, a couple of hours ago."

Robin mumbled something about curling around some guy named Brian.

"Whoa!" Barney exclaimed. "Just hold on! Who's this guy Brian?"

"I'm staying here!" She was saying, not listening to him at all, her voice rising and rising. "This is my home! I'm a-never going to leave it again!" By the end she was shouting so loudly that Barney had to hold his iPhone a foot away from his ear.

"You're never coming home...?" He asked, his voice cracking. A string of protests lined themselves up in his brain, each one more lame than the last.

"But you said you'd come over later for sex!"
"But I'm your boyfriend!"
"But it's Canada!"

Robin was giggling now so Barney took a deep breath and said, "So, how did you wind up drunk in Canada in two hours? That's physically impossible!"

Robin belched loudly. Barney was pretty sure she then tried to burp to the tune of "O Canada."

"Gross," he said. And yeah, if Robin had called him and said she was in Paris, or Athens, or Moscow or any one of the hundreds of places she swore she'd move to, then he'd have taken it on the chin, maybe gotten drunk himself, but he'd have understood.

He'd always expected to get this call, the "I'm not coming home" call. The "I'm leaving you for pastures more awesome" call.

But he'd be damned if he'd lose her to Canada.

"Where are you?" He demanded.

"In bed with Brian!" She giggled.

That wasn't a good sign. He growled, "Damn it, Scherbatsky! What about the test? What about helping you study? This is the greatest damn country-" Then the line went dead and Barney was left staring at the darkening screen of his iPhone, at the photograph of her with her lips practically pressed up against the lens. He did the only sensible thing.

He panicked.

He decided to risk it all. He decided to go and get her back.

There was a guy he knew from his Altrucell days who worked at AT&T and could triangulate a cellphone's position from the three ajacent towers surrounding the area where the phone was last used. That might help locate his errant girlfriend, if Canada even had cellphone towers! On his way to the airport, Barney called his phone guy using his Blackberry, while simultaneously trying to book a flight to Toronto using his iPhone.

He wondered briefly if iPhone had an app for tracking down wayward chicks who'd gone Canadian. Oh jeez, he thought, what if she'd gone totally native? What if she'd grown her armpit hair, boned a Mountie and converted to French? Or whatever the hell the religion was up there in the frozen wilderness.

The flight from New York to Toronto was gratifyingly short, but even so, Barney felt like he'd need about a thousand showers to wash away the stench of maple syrup and moose.

He'd probably have to burn his suit.

When he paid the cab driver to take him downtown to the square block where he'd discovered she'd made that phone call, Barney was horrified to find that they didn't even use regular money. It was all colored... wrong! Money should be green! That's why it was called green! He gripped the leather seat, knuckles whitening in fear. What kind of hellish place was this?

However, when he finally found the hotel where Robin was apparently sleeping it off, he sagged with relief. It would be okay. Everything would be okay. She'd just gotten drunk and... ran off... with Brian. Or something.

Don't think about that, he told himself.

The woman behind the front desk at the hotel gave him a spare key when he claimed to be Robin's test-pilot, philanthropist husband. Eh.

Brian. Canada. Don't think aboot it. About it! God damn, he was getting infected!

Words couldn't describe his relief when he found Robin passed out on the floor, in the dark, in her trashed hotel room.

Alone.

They were going home.