Chapter 2.
I tiptoe down to the shore
Stand by the ocean
She was reluctant to talk about it with her friends, even though they knew something must have happened between them since the Mosby trick. One night, when she found herself in their usual booth at McLaren's alone with Lily, she almost let something slip – but she changed her mind just before she opened her mouth, and had a sip of her beer to drown her dilemma in it instead.
Later that night, the guys joined them at the bar and the conversation was so casual that it hurt her. She didn't want them to acknowledge what she was going through, but couldn't any of them notice it ? She felt so awkward, yet so excited, to talk to them as if nothing was going on – but what was going on, really ? – especially to Barney. She would look at him a bit longer than necessary, let her gaze linger on his mouth, on his hands, until he noticed – but only until he alone noticed. It was like a game they played, while no one else was watching. It kinda feels like foreplay, she'd think, and then Stop Robin it's Barney, come on… it's Barney. But why didn't the idea of foreplay with Barney disturb her more ?
It only confused her more.
She'd go back home, watch some TV while slouching on her couch, wondering how her dogs enjoyed life in a farm, wondering what stupid things they'll make her do tomorrow at work, wondering if Barney will watch it… Why does my mind keep coming back to him ?
« Hey Barney. »
« Hey Scherbatsky. To what do I owe the pleasure ? » His voice sounded flirty – as usual anyway – but she could sense a hint of hesitation in it.
« Well, I'm home watching really crappy TV, and I don't think I'll be able to sleep. Wanna go out and have a drink ? »
« … Sure. » Did he just sound surprised ? « Awesome. Get ready, Sparkles, I'll come and pick you up in half an hour. »
How nice, she thought, did he ever come over to pick anyone up ? She reviewed the contents of her wardrobe, trying to find something that made her look good, look pretty, look sexy… Stop. I don't need to look sexy. I don't know what I want from him. I don't know why I called him. I don't want him to get the wrong message. While she got dressed, casual jeans, casual black tshirt and cute pumps – come on, she couldn't decently go out at night wearing sneakers – she wondered what the wrong message would be.
But once she sat in the cab with him, laughing about their day, her job, Ted's obsession with giving the perfect lecture on his first day at Columbia – she remembered why she'd called him. It was so easy being with him, they made each other laugh almost instantly. She had called him because he was the one she wanted to call when she didn't feel good, he was the one she wanted to call when she wanted to talk, he was the one who made her feel smart and worthy and beautiful in good times and in bad. Except this time he was the reason why she didn't feel so good, he was the reason why she wanted to feel beautiful and worthy and smart.
She knew it since that night when he conforted her after her lousy break up with Simon – how come he was the only one of the gang to manage to cheer her up then ? – and they ended up sleeping together. That was good, she thought before quickly suppressing that thought. It was embarassing to think that, now they were facing each other in that trendy lounge he had brought her to.
They talked for three hours. She didn't remember exactly what they talked about – she only remembered that it was an actual conversation, about work and their careers and their friends and their childhoods – but she remembered how it felt. She remembered the tension, the emotion when her hand accidentally brushed his when she was grabbing a napkin on the other side of the table. She remembered his gaze on her while they talked, what his eyes said that his words didn't – oh Robin, honey, how can you be so cheesy? But in the same time it felt incredibly comforting to be looked at like this.
He didn't try to bring the subject of them that night, and she knew she'd be the one who'd have to take the decisive step, he had done so much already. When they left the bar, she resisted the urge to hug him tight before getting in the cab he had hailed for her. It wouldn't do any good, she had to be sure of her feelings before even thinking of touching him. He's so close to me, one more step and I'll be in his space and NO.
Alone in the cab on her way back home, at four in the morning, she felt she had something inside her that needed to get out. She asked the driver to drop her on Brighton Beach, facing the Atlantic. She didn't care the neighborhood wasn't that safe at night, she felt invincible, and yet she felt vulnerable, she felt as if the hard wind hitting her body standing on the shore wasn't enough to solve her dilemma.
She faced the waves and screamed her questions to the ocean until the sun came out…
Make it roar at me
And I roar back