Disclaimer: So, so not mine. They belong to more awesome people than me. I wouldn't mind them as a birthday present, though.
Author's Note: So this is kinda a funny moment for me... this is the first not-drabble-challenge fic I've posted in 7 years. Back in the day, I wrote on FFN under the alias KJS. I got writer's block back in 2001 and it left me unable to finish a story... til now. Funny world. Since "Benefits" rocked and demanded piles of fic... This came of it.
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Five Times Barney Won't Admit It (And Once He Kinda Does):
1. Corona
He's getting used to saying it, sort of. He used to choke on the 'lo--' part, his tongue drying up and refusing the make the phrase come out. But now he's cursed and it leaps from him indiscriminately, forcing him to backpedal into new excuses, most of which involve Ted.
Barney's not sure if he's getting better or worse.
"I never knew you were a fan of tacos," Robin remarks as they sit inside the aged taco stand – Barney wouldn't normally trust something called 'Tacos de Toby' but Robin drags him in before he can find the chance to protest. "I thought you hated the sauce-stain risk to your suits."
"You know me, full of surprises! Ha. Haha," Barney knows his fake laugh sounds stupid, but somehow, Robin still seems oblivious.
He's got a beer in front of him, if you consider Corona to fall in the family of 'beer'. Barney shoves the lime down into the neck of the bottle.
"I can't believe you're drinking that. In Canada, that'd be a crime."
"Oh yeah? What's the punishment?"
"Twenty cans of Moosehead, to be drunk immediately upon confirmation that you are, in fact, drinking *that*." She gestures to the beer again, wrinkling her nose.
Maybe it's the not-beer, but he finds himself talking before he can stop it. "But what if, say, Corona wasn't such a bad beer, but you just thought it was because it was different than the beers you're used to? What if Corona is, in fact, a totally awesome beer that wants to be *your* beer, but you just don't realize that it's come to a point in its brewing life where it's ready for that kind of commitment?"
Robin raises an eyebrow, glancing down at the discussed bottle. "Barney, how many of those have you had today?"
"I mean, it's not Corona's fault that you think you want a different beer. Maybe if you tried Corona for more than one totally legendary nigh—er, bottle, you'd like it. Maybe you just need to give Corona a chance."
She meets his gaze, but none of the understanding he hopes for is there. Instead, she plucks the bottle from his hands. "No more of these for you."
He watches her toss the Corona in the trash and it feels like a little piece of him went with the lime.
2. Dishwasher
At first Robin thought the fridge full of milk was just a weird, passive-aggressive Ted move. But the next morning, shuffling into the kitchen to claim a bowl of cereal, she noticed something else.
"Hey Ted. Where'd this come from?" She popped open the dishwasher, peering inside.
"Where'd what come from?" Ted strode into the kitchen, toweling his hair dry. Robin never really saw the point, when it'd soon be slick beneath gel.
"The dishwasher."
"What dishwasher?" For a second, a flash of nervousness appeared on his face.
Robin pointed at the appliance in question, pulling down the door. "This dishwasher. The one that I'm pretty sure wasn't here yesterday. …Ted, did you get us a dishwasher to keep us from fighting?"
"No!" The answer was immediate, and a little loud. Ted settled down, giving a firm shake of the head. "Actually, it was kind of… Barney."
"Barney?" She raised an eyebrow. "Barney bought us a dishwasher. Barney Stinson."
"Yeah. Yeah, he did," Ted said, trying to affect a look of indifference, folding his arms over his chest. "Yep, good ol' Barney. He just. You know. Wanted to help out. That's all."
"Really?" Robin gave him a puzzled look before shrugging. It's another ten minutes before she picks up the phone.
"'Sup, Scherbatsky?" The warm, familiar voice greets her and she forces the butterflies down – she tells herself they're not supposed to be there, she can just ignore them. "Booty calls shouldn't be made til after nine, you realize."
"Barney," she said warningly. But as she listens to the barely-there hum of the dishwasher (who knew they made them so quiet?) she found her tone melting. "I wanted to thank you."
"You don't need to thank me for being an inspiration in the world of awesomeness. Trust me, I know. However, I will accept gifts in the form of—"
She cuts him off. "I meant for the dishwasher."
"Oh."
Robin listens to the silence for a moment. "…So?"
"So...?" Barney repeats.
"Why'd you get it for us?"
Another pause. "Kwanzaa?"
"Kwanzaa's in December. And since when did you celebrate Kwanzaa?"
"Uh, since always. Duh. You being all… Um… Canadian… You wouldn't know how much Kwanzaa means to us here."
"That's makes no—" Robin pauses, shaking her head and soldiering on. "Well, whatever the reason, thanks Barney. This is literally the nicest thing someone's done for me in awhile." Robin traced a hand along the stainless steel surface. Not having the face the pile of plates in the sink would be a relief.
"You're welcome," he says softly, so quietly she almost misses it. "Robin—"
"Hmm?"
"…See you tonight." *click*
She stands there, holding her cell phone, for a moment cut off as the words begin. "Barney—" she says into the dial tone, before shaking her head and letting her phone drop to the counter.
3. Smoking
"Really, Barney? When did you start this?"
He hadn't realized anyone had noticed, until he suddenly had a warm breath on his neck. The January rain is killer to his mojo, the shift between rain and sleet and snow is both the nightmare of postmen, and Armani suits.
But now there's Robin, her soft breath against his skin, leaning against him out of the rain as his umbrella does its best to keep them both dry.
Barney just quirks a smile, offering his pack. "Want one?"
"Fuck yes." Robin's got her cigarette lit before he can blink, exhaling a smoke ring and letting her eyes half-close with the kind of joy only a fellow smoker can appreciate.
They stand in silence for awhile, only the faint red glow between them, watching the rain pound the sidewalk around them.
"I didn't know you smoked," she says offhand.
He doesn't think he needs to respond, but he tries a shrug anyway. "Sometimes."
He can feel her gaze on him. He can always feel her, the softest change and the lightest touch. It's just his second nature now, that awareness. That, and the dull ache inside his stomach.
"We're okay, Barney?" She meets Barney's gaze with half-lidded eyes. "You've been weird lately and I just didn't know… It's silly." She laughs and he manages a weak smile in return. "I just… I felt like maybe I did something."
"You didn't do anything… now, if you want to do something, you know I'm up for it. *All* up. Smokin' five!" He offers his free hand and though she gives an exasperated sigh, Robin returns it.
"You never take anything seriously, do you?"
--Just you, just loving you, just your smell and your hair and your smile—
He shakes his head. "Nope," he responds, the hollow smile carved onto his face.
4. Like You
While Lily had to admit she'd had a few late-night rendezvous with Marshall in her classroom (because really, who can resist the naughty kindergarten teacher?), this was not the kind she was used to.
"She said 'He's not like you'. What does that even mean?" Barney cuddled Feely the Sharebear closer to his chest, ignoring the way Lily was staring at him in exasperation. "Not like me. Duh, he's not like me. I'm awesome! I'm infinite past awesome! I'm… I'm… "
It really was like comforting a kindergartener. Lily gently patted Barney on the head as he wedged himself further into the bean bag chair in her classroom. "Yes, Barney. You're awesome. But you have to admit, you don't really share this whole 'feeling' side of you with anyone."
"Because feelings are lame, which is the opposite of me."
"Yes, but if Robin knows what I know, that there's a little bit of actual human being hiding in that suit, she might be more inclined to see you differently."
Even Lily was surprised by the despondent stare she was met with. "I told her. I told her and she blew it off, like she didn't get that I meant *me*. …I don't always want to be 'that guy'," he said quietly.
"Aw, Barney. I know that," she consoled. "But you have to show her that. It takes time, but she'll see it. I mean, I used to think you had as much in common with the rest of us as a space alien, but I figured it out. She will too. Just keep trying."
He cuddled closer to the stuffed bear. "Does she want someone like Ted? Is that the problem?"
"She broke up with Ted. She and Ted want different things, you know that. You two would be great together if you would stop being… you know…"
"Awesome?" He perked up.
"Actually, I was going to say 'a douche'." Lily shook her head. "Look, you just need to take a chance." In the distance, there was a low 'snick' of metal and the sound of door slamming shut. "Like now."
"W-what?"
Lily met his panicked stare with a smug smirk. "I called Robin to take you home. I told her you were drunk and needed help, so I pulled you in here before you got arrested as a public nuisance."
"You wouldn't!"
"Lily?" Robin's voice echoed down the hallway, sending Barney into immediate survival mode.
"But I'm not drunk! She'll know I'm not drunk! What do I do?!" He could feel the sweat beginning to bead up, which only added to the fear – sweating on his suit?!
Lily seemed to take it in stride, leaning over her desk and opening the bottom drawer. To Barney's surprised, she tossed a flask in his direction. "Drink that, you'll smell like whiskey, at least."
He opened the flask and gave the liquor a tentative sniff. "Aldrin, I'm pleasantly surprised by your hint of depravity."
"Hey, if you had to deal with these hooligans everyday, you'd drink too!" The click of heels increased in volume. Lily gestured to the flask. "C'mon, drink up and get going! This is your chance to talk to her! If she thinks you're drunk, it won't be weird that you want to talk about say… feelings." She shot him a sharp look.
With a barely murmured prayer to some distant God of Bros, Barney looked up at the ceiling, raised the flask in a silent toast, and downed it.
"There you are." Robin poked her head into the room as Barney did his best to put on his 'pathetic drunk' persona. It'd gotten enough women to take him home in pity, perhaps this time….
"Yep, here he is. Drunk Barney. Drunk drunk drunk." Lily gestured to the forlorn-looking man.
Robin wrinkled her nose, curiously pointing at him. "What's up with the bear?"
"N-nothing. Just holding it because it was on the chair. Didn't want it to mess up my suit. Ha." Barney attempted another drunken look.
"Uh-huh. Look Barney, can you walk to the cab?"
He gave a small nod. "Can try," he said, slightly slurred.
"C'mon, flyboy." Robin held her hand out to him, hoisting him up and looping an arm over his shoulder. "Let's get you home." She shot Lily a 'you owe me one' expression, complete with eyeroll.
"You take care, Barney. Sleep it off." Lily gently took Feely the Sharebear away from Barney, tucking it under her arm.
As the door shut behind them, Lily immediately leapt into action, pressing her ear against the door as the pair made their way down the hallway.
"Robin, about earlier…" Barney began, sounding less drunk than he should.
"What is it, Barney?"
There was a moment of silence, then the Fake Drunk voice returned. "Nothin'."
Lily glanced down at the stuffed bear in her arms. "Looks like we've still got some work to do with him, don't we?"
She took the bear's silence for agreement.
5. Bro
When they get back from the taco stand that evening, Ted's sitting at his drafting table, sketching out a new project. He hates to bring work home like this, but he needs a distraction – something not related to pizza boxes and clothing hanging off the lampshade.
It's easy to hear them coming – a strange squeal echoes in from the hallway, which seems to be what passes for Barney's nervous laugh nowadays.
"—Come on, Scherbatsky. You don't really expect me to believe that."
"I'm telling you, the bear *jumped* the car!"
The door swings open and Ted wonders how he just… never noticed. The signs were clear, the strangely intent look on Barney's face as he seems to absorb Robin's every move, her every word. Even when they were dating, Ted couldn't remember paying that sort of attention to the little details. Sure, he knew her birthday, but Barney probably knows the number of moles on her left arm.
Robin, at least, seems pleased to see him. "Ted! Up for the bar tonight?"
"You know it!" He lets the pencil drop from his fingers and roll down across his drawing. It can wait. His new project seems to be unfolding before him. As Robin drops her purse to the floor, he manages to catch Barney's eye. With a raised eyebrow, he tilts his head towards her.
Barney shakes his head wildly, panicked.
Ted can't help but smile. "Hey Robin?"
"Don't you think Barney's been acting strange lately?" His gaze doesn't leave Barney's.
Robin raises an eyebrow in a 'what are you up to this time, Mosby?' stare, before turning to look at Barney. She seems to take the question seriously, at least, giving him a quizzical look. "Actually, you *have* been a little jumpy lately. What's up with you, Barney?"
"Nothing! Absolutely n-nothing! *Ted*," Barney stresses, "is just trying to distract attention from the fact that he's leaving his dishes in the sink!"
Guiltily, Ted refuses to let his gaze drift to the plates that held his nachos – now resting sloppily on the counter.
Robin turns on him, practically growling. "Ted!"
"Shouldn't we be meeting Lily and Marshall at the bar?" Ted quickly asserts, slipping a step back from Robin. The Abominable Canadian Monster is not something he wants to let out of the cage without any way to soothe the savage beast. Unless… Barney… He squashes the idea down.
This, at least, seems to make Robin relent. "Fine. Let's head down. But you're using that dishwasher when we get back, Ted Mosby!"
"Mmhmm. Sure. Hey, why don't you go ahead? I want Barney's advice on… um… a tie! For a date. With a woman." He shoots Barney a glance.
The second the door shuts behind Robin, Ted's standing close to Barney, grinning at his friend.
"Say it."
Barney shakes his head, almost looking lost as he glances up with dark eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about—"
"Say it," Ted repeats, insistent, meeting Barney's eyes.
There's a flicker of something there – Ted never expected to see anything hiding in there beyond lust, but hey, it's there and it makes even his heart burn – and Barney nods. As if affirming some invisible decision. "I'm in love with Robin," he says, almost offhand.
Well. There it is. Ted thinks it should hurt, he's got a thousand memories of Robin laughing, of her body pressed against his and her lips on his thighs, but somehow it doesn't. Maybe this mean Stella cured him of his crush. Maybe it means it's really over. He remembers it hurting before, he thinks of Barney's eyes on her, of the images that tormented him the night of his 30th birthday…
It doesn't hurt anymore.
"Come on, " Ted says, clapping a hand down on Barney's shoulder. "Let's go. I'm your wingman tonight. We'll fix this feelings problem."
Barney winces noticeably. "While I like your style, and that you're willing to join me again as Bro and Bro-master against the ladies of the world… Sex hasn't been curing it." Misery is plain in his voice.
"That's not what I meant." Ted lets his smile grow as he pulls Barney towards the door. "We're going to go down to that bar, and we're going to get you Robin."
For a second Barney pauses, and Ted finds their gaze meeting. The tiniest of smiles appears on Barney's face – not a smirk, not a leer, not any of the expressions that instinctively seem 'Barney' – but an actual smile.
"Thanks, bro."