Slowly, sharply

On balance, he's glad he asked her.

And it's true that it was a combination of circumstances that caused his temporary insanity: No sleep and work pressure. In tomorrow's early edition, the headlines scream about Korean weapons testing but that isn't entirely his fault.

Another reason… his family...

He'd do anything for James, but it had been driving him a little crazy all evening. Was Tom mad at him? His brother had just seemed really… sad… it was the tone of James's emails that spooked him. And when Barney gets spooked…

And he screwed up her birthday. Nothing he could say to Scherbatsky would ever make up for that - not getting the stupid courier-boy fired, not even buying up the whole god-damned company. Only a legendary night out could even start to take the edge off and that's what he'd promised Robin.

And so… There had been reasons but not excuses: A powder keg of stress and lack of sleep and worry and Scherbatsky and… BAM… before he knew it, he'd asked her.

To be fair, Robin had been prodding him all night. Their birthday celebrations had somehow turned into getting a late-night flight to LA (Robin's idea) and so he'd been online, chatting to her and booking flights and hotels and she'd kept…

…pushing.

And it had been weird… His brain was working in fits and starts. His eyes had been fixed on the screen but his hands were balling into fists and she kept…

…pushing.

"Don't freeze me out," she'd begged him. "Tell me why Barney?"

She wouldn't let him back off. She wouldn't let the mask slip back on. She prodded and poked and wouldn't take no for an answer.

So he'd asked her. That stupid, secret question that had been burning like a hot wire in his gut for months. The thing he'd suspected might be true but he'd told himself definitely wasn't. Not her. She didn't think like that. Everyone else did but not her.

"Can I ask you something…?" He'd said. And a half-hour later he still hadn't. Because she'd slipped through the cracks in his armour and hurt him, hurt him, making fun, poking holes and he'd tried so, so hard and she'd never see…

"Hypothetically…" He'd faltered, asking his questions inch-by-inch, "A girl like you, a girl as awesome as you… would my- my whoring around- would that be a deal breaker? I mean, to dating…?"

She'd misunderstood. She'd deflected. She'd said that she thought he was great the way he was and that she'd never judge him. "You'd have to ask the girl," she'd said.

"What about you?" He'd pushed her. "Hypothetically?" No wriggle room. No more deflection.

And then she admitted it - the thing he'd always suspected (always dreaded) was true but had convinced himself wasn't.

And it had killed him dead.

So, now he knew the truth: Robin Scherbatsky didn't want to share her man with anyone else.

("Not even one-night-stands?" He'd asked. Pathetic!)

Robin Scherbatsky didn't want to be with someone who would cheat on her.

He'd always suspected that the reason he never stood a chance with Robin, the reasons he never stood a chance with her, were many and varied. That it was something to do with the "friendship zone" (she'd said as much herself).

But this, the truth, it had killed him dead.

Because he knew he couldn't change for her. He knew he was addicted to sex, to the strange. He wasn't self-deluded in that respect.

Yet he knew he couldn't bear to hurt her, ever, for any reason.

Even though he loved her, Robin, his Robin, his bro, his best friend…

(she wasn't his, would never be his)

…he could never change.

And he'd freaked and flailed and failed and she'd seen it, seen it, seen right through him and surely she'd seen the truth bleed through.

"Why? Barney tell me what's wrong?"

(I love you) His fingers hovered over the keys, typing and deleting, typing, deleting.

"Just tell me! Don't freeze me out!"

(I love you so much) Deleting.

It had been so much easier to deal with the fall out in the privacy of his own apartment. When the flashpoint came, he'd surged to his feet, picked up a glass vase and slammed it against the wall, watching the shards explode in freakin' slow-mo like a scene from one of those John Woo films she loves so much.

Then he'd rammed his fist into the wall.

The anger dissipated in direct proportion to his pain (so much pain) and… way to go to bust your knuckles, Stinson... he'd had to type one-handed after that.

And now, he has to see her in person.

"We're good, aren't we?" She'd asked, like she was scared she was losing him.

"I care about you," she'd assured him.

So now he has less than an hour before Ranjit's due to pick him up. Then he'll see her in the flesh and he can already feel it, the metal slats curling around his ribcage, the armour sliding back into place and he knows now that one of two things will happen when he sees her face.

The armour will fix, hard steel, impenetrable, and he'll be left broken and bleeding inside with no way out.

Or…

Or just maybe…

She'll reach out and take his hand and something will soften just because she says a word, or she smiles, gently, gently and she'll reach in and save him.

But he knows that's never gonna happen.

She's not his, will never be his.

So, as much as he loves her, he'll settle for bros before he'll lose her completely.