Title: The Distraction Reaction (2/3)
Characters: The Gang, Barney/Robin
Word Count: 8,915
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine. –sniff-
Spoilers: Takes place three days after 4x02, "The Best Burger in New York." Spoilers up until then!
Summary: As far as defensive reactions went, The Distraction Reaction was, decidedly, the least effective. The equivalent to throwing the dog a bone when you had a sirloin steak in-hand, any idiot could have told her that it just wasn't going to work out.
Author's Notes: I hate it when shows 'steal' my ideas and do them better than me. –pout- As should be fairly obvious, this story is now AU after "I Heart NJ." Also, as is my tendency, I underestimated how much space all of that narrative stuff takes up, so there'll be one more (shorter) chapter to the fic. Still new, still no beta (due to impatience rather than lack of offers!), and concrit is still appreciated. Thanks for your time!

--

THREE WEEKS LATER

"'Got news,'" Lily read obediently from her cell phone. "'McL's, 5.'"

Barney turned from Lily to stare pointedly at his best friend. "And that is how a respectable, non-pubescent, writes a text message."

"I told you I was panicked!" Ted shouted defensively.

Barney raised an eyebrow.

"It was Star Wars!"

"So what do you guys think Robin's big news could be?" Marshall asked.

"Don't know," Lily remarked. "She's been awfully busy lately. Could be anything."

Marshall perked up hopefully. "Hey, do you think-"

Lily cut him off. "No, Marshall."

"But-"

"She hasn't been tracking down Nessie, I'm sorry sweetie."

He deflated. "A guy can hope, can't he?"

Before Barney could comment on the less than completely dignified nature of Marshall's hopes, Robin appeared at his elbow.

"Hey!"

He tried to remain casual. Namely by not jumping out of his seat, screaming, or whimpering longingly.

And to his credit, the whimper that came out of him was really really tiny.

It's not that Barney was scared of Robin. As if anything could scare Barney, really. Except for driving. And that was only because it was a completely unnatural exercise for a human to partake in and had nothing whatsoever to do with things whooshing past at lightening speeds, no matter what Ted said.

Barney loved lightening speeds.

Point being, he wasn't even slightly terrified of Robin. It was more like he was afraid of what he would do while around her. Like whimpering pathetically in a completely unawesome way.

And this fear was not helped by Ted's inquisitive stare to the right of him.

On the plus side, said gaze didn't seem to communicate any homicidal desires, just deep curiosity. That was progress of some kind, he guessed.

Barney celebrated by scooting away from Robin.

"So?" Marshall asked the newest arrival expectantly.

Robin sighed. "No patience at all."

Ted shook his head. "None."

"Tell me, tell me!" Lily piped in.

Robin grinned. "A round on me first. Barney, could you come help?"

Again, Barney applauded himself on his lack of screaming. He was really starting to master this casual thing.

"Sure," he said as he stood up and – oh so casually – followed Robin to the bar.

See? He was completely fine, no strange funny feelings of any sort being felt here. Only the normal awesome kind. He was even able to appreciate the finely sculpted wonder of a sweet young thing's barely-there dress while waiting for the drinks Robin had just ordered. He was doing great. What had ever made him think he had been in love with Robin in the first place?

Then she started to talk to him. "So the job?"

And like a whip had been cracked Barney forgot all about barely-there girl and focused all of his attention on the beautiful, sophisticated woman standing next to him.

Dammit! This was not going into his blog.

He did his best to concentrate on the conversation in an attempt to forget his massive failure at being uninterested in Robin Scherbatsky for at least three seconds. "The one-?"

She rolled her eyes. "You forced me through your sheer power of awesome to apply for. Yes, that one."

Barney tried to look bored. "What about it?"

Because, really, he didn't care about the job. Or about how her day went. Or what her favorite color was. Or if she ever believed in the Tooth Fairy, or Santa Clause or –

Good God, he needed help.

"I got it."

Barney snapped out of it and found himself grinning like the huge, lame, idiot he was turning into. "You did?"

Ugh. And said with such legitimate caring and everything…

She returned his smile smugly. "Oh yeah I did."

"That's great!" And before he really knew what he was doing, he had stepped forward and hugged her. A full-blown, arms around her shoulders, face buried in her hair, no distance between his body and hers, hug.

He was so overwhelmed and giddy by his own boldness (initiating physical contact and everything), he was half-convinced he was having a flashback to high school.

And it got no better when she wrapped her own arms around him.

Suddenly completely surrounded by all things Robin (her smell, the way she felt, her hands on him… and various other body parts on him that were a lot more fun), Barney briefly let himself get lost in the sensation.

And then he remembered Ted, watching from the booth. And the bro code. And his dignity and duty to all things awesome. And the fact that he was absolutely not in love with Robin.

With a start he leapt away from her, running a hand through his hair and tugging his suit straight. "I mean, yeah man. That's cool." He slouched against the bar and tried to look uninterested again. "Whatever."

He just hoped that Robin couldn't see him sweating.

Although with the way she was squinting at him, with her furrowed brow and more than slightly concerned expression, one would have thought his distress was obvious. Not that he did think that, of course. Barney had already established that he had mastered the casual thing.

"Er, thanks Barney."

He shrugged as nonchalantly as possible, considering that he still felt all tingly everywhere she had been touching him. "Yeah, for sure."

Why were the drinks taking so long?

"Anyway, just thought you would like to know."

Barney nodded. "I'm guessing that's why you called this little gathering together?"

"The very reason."

He frowned. "And why is it that you decided I should be the first one to hear the news?"

Robin suddenly seemed fascinated by countertop. "No reason." The bartender returned with their ordered drinks. "Look! The drinks are here!"

Barney frowned. Undue enthusiasm (honestly, it wasn't even scotch), excessive eagerness, and a lack of a substantial response to the original question.

Had she just tried to use The Distraction Reaction on him?

If he ignored the insult to his character, which was awfully gracious of him, it certainly did add an intriguing new dimension to his predicament.

Scherbatsky, it seemed, had something to hide.

Interesting.

Robin hurriedly gathered an armful of alcohol and gestured toward the booth. "Better tell everybody else."

Barney nodded, picking up the remaining glasses and following her back to the group, but not without a few new possibilities on his mind.

Very interesting indeed.

TEN MINUTES LATER

"So this is what you've been up to the past month!" Ted said as he took a swing of beer.

Robin nodded. "I didn't want to tell you guys and then have us all disappointed if I didn't get it."

"Peh, as if." Barney scoffed in the seat next to her. "You've clearly absorbed some of my residual awesome, making you completely impossible to resist."

Robin did her absolute best not to blush. What was she, a thirteen-year-old with a crush?

Not that she had a crush. Because she didn't. She was just flattered. Yes, that was it. Flattered by his attentions. They were cute. Quaint. And not all something that she had spent the past three weeks agonizing and/or fantasizing over. Because, like she had already established, she wasn't a teenager anymore.

Were people still talking?

"Cable and everything!" Ted beamed. "You're a genuine star now."

Lily whipped out the jazz hands. "See that limelight glowing around her?"

Marshall regarded her seriously with a pensive hand on his chin. "Should I sell your autograph on ebay now, or should I give it a few weeks for the Scherbatsky craze to really set in?"

Robin grinned.

She loved her friends.

In a platonic, non-crushy way, of course.

"When do you start?" Lily asked.

"Not for a month," she answered. "But I still need to be placed in a position."

Ted frowned. "Lead anchor, right? Big desk at the front of the room where all the cameras are pointed?"

"Well they've set up a few headquarters, and they're thinking about putting me in the New York office," she paused appropriately so that the proper amount of anticipation could build. "Or at the California station."

Barney spat out his mouthful of beer. "California?" he sputtered.

"Right?" She had been more than a little shocked herself. "They have to have anchors available for the Pacific time zone, and apparently they're not digging the LA pretension they're finding locally, so..."

Barney leaned forward in his seat. "Are you going to go?"

"I'm thinking about it. It would be a great opportunity, and it would pay more." She shook her head. "But I love New York, I couldn't stand to leave you guys."

"But you're thinking about it?"

It was then she noticed that Barney's tone wasn't just politely inquisitive – if she hadn't known better, she would have thought it was panicked.

She regarded him seriously. "It would be stupid not to."

"When do you need to decide by?" Marshall asked, his excitement in direct contrast with Barney's… dread?

"Within the next two weeks. I'm actually going to be taking a tour in the West Coast studio next week."

"Well, no pressure from us, Robin." Lily patted her hand from across the table. "You do whatever you think is best."

"LA over New York? Really Robin?" Ted asked, incredulous. "New York is the best city in the world, you'd be crazy to even consider-"

"Ted!" Lily yelled.

Ted gulped. "We'll support you no matter what your decision is."

Lily nodded smugly. "Good Ted."

Robin grinned, doing her best not to notice the way Barney had slumped dejectedly next to her. "We'll see. I'm not jumping into anything yet."

"You say you leave in a week?" Marshall asked innocently, turning to his wife with a raised eyebrow.

Lily smiled and her eyes sparkled in the familiar, slightly crazed, party-gleam. "Oh, that's nice," she remarked.

She then made a complicated hand gesture and looked at Marshall significantly.

Marshall promptly smiled like a kid about to get some candy. "You know, sweetie, I think I left my roast beef in the oven."

"Have you? We'd better go check on that." They shuffled out of the booth. "Bye guys!"

And with that, the two were off to make party plans and take part in activities that would make the kid forget about his candy.

Robin, Barney, and Ted stared after them for a beat before turning to each other knowingly.

"They suck at subtle," Ted muttered.

"A lot," Barney agreed. "It would be nice if they'd at least put some effort in it and pretended to spare us." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It's putting a damper on my mojo."

Robin gave them both stern looks. "Hey, if they did try to save us from their sexual adventures they wouldn't have the benefit of scarring us for life and making us have intimacy issues when we grow up."

Ted shrugged. "Guess we can't deny them that."

"I could," Barney muttered. "It's creepy. Like knowing the strange man your mom just brought home isn't actually there to repair the drawers in her closet and then hearing strange banging noises coming from the bedroom."

She and Ted stared at him in slight horror.

Barney blinked at them. "Or was that just me?"

Robin and Ted exchanged a look, each wondering what a sensitive way to respond would be, when Ted jumped a little in his chair.

"Vibrator's on," he muttered as he reached into his pocket.

Barney stared at Ted and almost licked his lips before letting out a sigh. "Nah." He turned to Robin. "It's just too easy. I mean, everyone can see his ovaries at this point, you know?" He shook his head at the other man.

Ted ignored him and stared at the screen of his cell phone. "It's Stella."

Robin winced internally.

Three weeks had past since Ted had decided to 'go on a break' with his fiancé for not liking Star Wars. And no, she wasn't the only one to seriously question the sanity of a man idiotic enough to pull a stunt like that. Since the break-up, they had barely heard a peep from or about Stella. To the best of Robin's knowledge, she was giving Ted the cold shoulder and Ted had been suffering (not so silently) in the meantime.

Personally, Robin was impressed that the woman hadn't come at him with a hatchet of some sort.

Robin turned back to Ted, whose eyes hadn't left the text message. "And?"

He looked up nervously. "She wants to talk."

Barney scoffed. "Women and talking." He nodded toward Ted. "And strange she-male hybrids."

Robin rolled her eyes and grinned reassuringly at her friend. "About time."

Barney took a sip of his drink. "Yeah, what's taken so long for her to indulge your feminine fancies anyway?"

"It's complicated," Ted said, standing up from the table and suddenly noticing the basket of fries laid out between them. "Oh, look! Fries!"

Robin sighed. This Distraction Reaction nonsense really needed to come to a stop.

Besides, the situation wasn't all that complicated. Ted had broken up with a woman because of Star Wars months before their wedding. Said woman was clearly being incredibly reasonable and staving off her murderous hatchet-hacking desires through ignoring his existence entirely for a few weeks.

What was so complicated about that?

Men.

Ted lost interest in the fries and gestured to the door. "Well I'm off."

"Good luck!" Robin told him as he backed away from the table.

"Be sure to have break-up sex if it doesn't pan out!" Barney yelled just as Ted was leaving the bar.

Robin scowled at him.

"What?" he asked, munching on a fry.

And this was the man who had been occupying so many of her thoughts for the past month.

She let out an internal groan and thanked the heavens that this odd fascination with him was just a phase.

Hopefully.

ONE MINUTE LATER

Barney had done his best to mock Ted and make obligatory inappropriate remarks, but really, his thoughts were elsewhere. In fact, said thoughts were the same place they had been the past three months, in spite of his better (awesome) judgment.

California?

Robin was going to go to California?

Well, maybe not. But this was Robin. Brilliant, amazing Robin who put her job before everything else. Who didn't hold herself back for anybody or anything, and scowled at anyone who asked her to until they gave up and ran away. (The Canadian brand of scowling was especially scary.)

And, really, why should she hold back? Barney obviously hadn't, and that had made him the king of the crop of all things cool. And, after a series of very complex and intricate tests that he didn't have the time to go into detail about (calibrating one's awesome-level was no easy feat), he had determined that there was some similar possible awesome in Scherbatsky. With potential like that, there should be no reason for Robin to curtail her success, and if to reach her ultimate plateau of brilliance she had to move to California, so be it.

Except…

Barney started mentally screaming at himself.

Except nothing. Because he didn't care where Robin lived. Just like he didn't care about her job, or her happiness, or her favorite color.

Because Barney Stinson didn't care about Robin Scherbatsky.

Robin picked up a fry before standing up. "I better take off too."

Why was it that she could do something as simple and basic as standing and make it look beautiful?

Wait. What had he just thought?

Barney resisted the urge to bang his head on the table.

She threw her coat on. "Early morning, turning in my two week's notice and all." Robin grinned in that mischievous way she had when she was about to do something she knew was less than honorable.

Barney loved that look.

He smirked at her. "You're going to shove it in their faces, aren't you?"

"I'm the best lead anchor they've had on that station ever. To make my leaving any more traumatic would be wrong and unnecessarily cruel of me." She returned his smirk. "Of course I'm going to rub it in their faces."

"Have fun," he told her as he locked his eyes on beer, deciding that he really couldn't keep looking at her when she was smiling like that. "Throw in a 'nahnahnah' in for me, would you?"

"You aren't leaving?"

Barney shook his head and sipped at his drink. "There was a clinger this morning who hung around the apartment," he lied quickly. "I think I got rid of her, but-"

Robin nodded. "Better to be safe than sorry." She let out a huff of air and then tugged on his sleeve. "Come on, then."

"Huh?" The lie was supposed to make her desist and depart, not initiate more contact of the physical variety. The physical, distracting variety.

Not good, not good. Barney's internal panic lights flashed and he fought every instinct that was telling him to abandon ship. Barney rarely got tripped up in a lie, but when he did and it was clear that there was no hope is salvaging what could have been a fun time, his 'flight' response kicked in.

Unfortunately, pointing behind Robin and then running out of the bar might have annoying repercussions the next time he saw her. He sighed. Friendships and their getting in the way of his clear escapes…

Robin gave his sleeve another tug. "I'm not going to leave you here and then have you pick up some other girl to take home. She'll just end up meeting the other one when you get there."

She pulled him to his feet and he tried to come up with some plausible reason not to leave with her. It wasn't that he didn't want to. Hanging out with Robin had become an addiction – something that felt so good and so wrong at the same time and that he needed much, much more of.

But addictions were bad. Like crack. Crack was bad.

Robin Scherbarsky was a bad addiction.

Therefore… Robin was crack?

He'd have to work on that analogy.

After he figured out how he was going to avoid the Robin-crack.

"But the cat fights are so much fun!"

"You're not the one sporting a bald spot the next morning."

Didn't she ever give up?

"I really think I should stay," Barney insisted, now clutching onto the table for dear life as Robin continued to pull him toward the exit. "The grade of bimbos offered tonight is just fantastic. Not like most nights, let me tell you."

She stared at him blankly. "Barney, this is below even you."

He shot a glance around the bar and saw a 60 year-old woman, a biker with a beard that could house a small munchkin village, and a 'working gal' who had seen better decades.

She was right. This was below his usual standards. Which was really saying something, because a few months ago that 60 year-old would have seemed downright foxy.

Robin was such a terrible influence.

She gave another tug and he let go of the table, allowing her to guide him out of McLaren's. "Come on. I won't bite, I promise."

"Ha," he laughed nervously. "Haha. Ha." Barney tried to crush the bit of him that really wished she would bite.

He was only sort of successful.

Robin turned back to him and grinned as they stepped outside into the rainy fall evening. "You're lucky I'm such a generous bro and letting you pay my way home, you know."

Lucky. That was one way of looking at it, he guessed.

Completely doomed was another.

TWO AND A HALF HOURS LATER

What the hell was she doing?

Well, she was finishing the hellish walk to her apartment in a terrifying storm that had appeared out of nowhere, yes.

But why was Barney with her? Why had she asked him to come along? And then, when he had come up with plenty of reasons not to come, why had she all but forced him to?

And why didn't he carry more money on him?

"I can't believe you couldn't pay for the entire cab ride here," she muttered, shaking out her coat as they reached her apartment door.

They had gotten kicked out of the cab when Barney revealed that he only had enough money to get them half of the way there. The rest of the trip had been spent rushing around in the pouring rain with coat and jacket, respectively, being held up to their ears as they ran for cover.

Barney shrugged and lost a few buckets of water in the process. "I'm more of a plastic man." Frowning, he took off his jacket and sighed as it continued to drip in the hallway.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course you are." She shoved open her door and gestured inside, lugging her soaked bag and coat after her. "Come on in." She poked around on her coffee table and found some change to pay for Barney's subway ride home.

Barney gaped at the doorway. "I should just go –" He pointed vaguely in the direction of the stairs and began the retreat.

And for some reason she didn't want to think too heavily on, Robin couldn't stand the thought of him leaving.

She raced forward and grabbed his arm before he took a step. "Barney, it's freezing out there and you're soaked. At least dry off a bit before you hit the subway, okay?" She grinned. "You don't want to get sick. Again."

He glared – an action that was less than dignified with water dripping from his hair into his eyes. It came out more squinty than intimidating. "I don't get sick."

She raised an eyebrow as she plopped the change into his outstretched hand. "Barney." She took a step backward into the apartment, dragging him with her. "You collapsed in a hallway from sneezing and fell asleep into your soup. You were sick."

He let out a snort, put the coins in his pant pocket, and closed the door behind him. "Uh, no. I was actually being a new kind of awesome that you didn't have the sophistication to appreciate."

She should have found him annoying. Should have rolled her eyes, thrown up her hands, and pushed him out of her home and have been done with it.

But instead she grinned and took hold of his other arm, making him drop his jacket. "Oh, was that it?"

"I'm afraid so." He sighed dramatically, trying to hide a smile behind that false bravado he was so good at. "I mean, let's be honest, you're cool Scherbatsky, but you're a few lessons away from reaching the ultimate level of awesome."

There she was, looking ridiculous she was sure, all dripping hair and wet clothes and in a blouse she could swear he could see through if he just moved his eyes downward a bit.

But he didn't. Instead he kept looking at her eyes.

That must have been why, she rationalized, it seemed like such a good idea to take a step closer to him. "And I suppose that you're the one to teach me those lessons?" Her babies needed some appreciation, right?

He huffed a bit, still smiling, and placed his hands on her hips. "You wish."

The rain should have made her feel freezing cold, but his touch burned.

"Oh, I don't think so, Stinson," she tried to smirk, to keep her voice natural and even. To make it seem as if she wasn't the least bit affected by him. By that smile (not smug or defiant or cocky – a real smile), those nimble hands at her sides, the wet collar that was open at his throat, the way he wouldn't stop staring at her.

She gulped. "I'm pretty sure I've got you wrapped around my finger." The words came out smooth, but her hand, when she traced it up his bicep and let it rest on his shoulder, was shaking.

Barney moved his eyes away from her face to look at her hand before turning back to her, expression different. "You do, do you?"

"Oh yeah. You're awesomeness only reigns supreme because I allow it." She laughed a bit and, before she could think better of it, erased the remaining distance between them, arms going around his shoulders and her cheek resting at the hollow of his throat. "Better be careful or I might revoke those privileges."

And it was about then that Robin's good sense and judgment came flooding back to her.

Terrible, terrible timing.

Why had she done that?

Robin felt herself tense, all airs of confidence quickly dismantling at the (series of, really) clearly illogical actions she had just taken. She was soaking wet – he was soaking wet – and she was cuddling up to him like some kind of gigantic, man-shaped pillow.

What was she doing? What was she, rational, sensible, smart, intelligent Robin Scherbatsky, doing?

She wanted to pull away, reestablish that stable distance that helped insure that her brain was still working properly. That's when it had all gone wrong – when she had started touching him. Everything had been fine until that point. No conflict, no confusion. Just Barney Stinson, being his sleazy self, and Robin, being her smart, emotionally (and physically) distant self. That had been going well for her.

He must have felt her tension by this point, must have realized that she was regretting this sudden proximity. She needed to pull away, needed to do it before things got more awkward and he (Barney Stinson – of all people) got hurt.

But then he, slowly, brought a hand to the small of her back. And then he started gently stroking up and down her spine, until all of the tension inexplicably melted away and she allowed herself to relax into him. She let the smooth motion of his hand moving against her arched back soothe her, started to breathe in time with the breaths she felt rising and falling in his chest, felt his entire being warm her from the outside in.

And it all felt far too good.

What the hell was she doing?

She felt more than heard him take a steadying breath, his throat moving just slightly under her cheek. "Why did you invite me over, Robin?"

Good question.

A question she had no intention of answering. Ever.

Because Robin didn't do this kind of thing. The impulsive, stupid, sort of stuff that caused so many problems for other people down the line. That sucked for everyone else, but Robin Scherbatsky was smart – she used her head and not her heart to make her decisions. Hearts were stupid, made people view everything through a goo-goo filter that ended up distorting reality in addition to making them watch and enjoy really bad movies. (When had stalking started to be considered romantic, honestly?)

Robin didn't buy into any of it, and because of that she had, thus far, had a relatively complication-free life. Action led to reaction, led to success, led to happiness. A very simple formula.

She had just gotten the job of her dreams, and now she was going to go to California to see if those dreams would come to fruition around palm trees instead of subways. A good, solid plan, friends and Barney Stinson be damned.

Why, then, was she dreading the whole experience like an execution date?

And why had she, ever since she had started to peruse the job wholeheartedly, been completely unable to stop thinking about Barney?

Because Robin Scherbatsky couldn't like-like (much less love) Barney Stinson, not if she was following her tried and true method of thinking with her head and not a certain internal organ that had long since been proven to show idiotic judgment when it came to all things sensible.

No, Robin definitely didn't do this kind of thing.

Even if it might have appeared, to the casual observer, that this 'kind of thing' was exactly what she was doing, what with all of the dampness, arm-wrapping, and cheek-resting that was going on. But it was just a lapse. An innocent lapse that she would correct momentarily.

Right after she took in every detail of each sensation she was feeling and memorized it.

She might have been too smart for anything else, but she was stupid enough, at least, for this.

And that was why, she supposed, she had invited him over.

But, being the smart woman she was and listening to her head again, that was also something she could never, ever, tell him.

Steadying herself, Robin answered Barney's question. "No reason." She lifted her head from that – now perfectly memorized – hollow at his throat. "So what's going on with Ted and Stella anyway?"

She mentally kicked herself.

After all of that inner turmoil, she uses The Distraction Reaction?

What a waste of a good internal monologue.

She started to pull away only to feel Barney's grip on her hip and back tighten slightly. She looked up to see him staring at her with a lost expression on his face, like a kid who had jumped into the deep end of the swimming pool without floaters and wasn't ready to swim yet.

"Robin, I –" he began, throwing a quick glance around the room, eyes fixating on an object for a second before flashing back to her face.

And in the next instant, that kid was gone.

"Have to go." She was convinced that it took him less than a millisecond to put on his smirk, let her go, scoop up his jacket, and open the door. "Congratulations. See you at the secret party Lily's throwing that we don't know anything about. Don't forget to suit up!"

Then the door slammed shut and Robin was left alone, wet and shivering in the middle of her empty apartment.

Well. That had been abrupt.

After a few moments of pointless gaping at her closed door, she threw a glance around the room, curious to see what had sent Barney running.

As best as she could tell, it was a picture from Marshall and Lily's wedding, back when she and Ted had still been pretending to be all coupley. In the background the newlyweds where (desperately, starving as they were) trying to feed each other cake while Ted and Robin cuddled up at the table in front.

She allowed a small smile at the picture before sighing and hanging up her coat. It was high time, she decided, to have a nice, long and oh-so-luxurious bath with an even more luxurious glass of wine.

Expensive wine that came in a bottle and everything.

ONE HOUR LATER

Lily was used to getting calls at odd hours from Barney. Between the sex-swing, potential legendary outings that she just 'had to know about,' and an occasional request to pretend to be his wife again, Lily was pretty certain she was on his speed-dial right next to 'Your Personal Playboy Hotline.'

But never, in all of the calls that had been sent her way in the past, had Barney seemed so panicked.

Or at least she hoped it was panic. When she answered the phone what she had heard was some unintelligible she-shriek that lasted about five minutes before being hastily cut off as the line went dead.

So, she figured Barney was either panicking or was being eaten alive by a banshee. Sadly, knowing Barney's sex-life, both options were equally plausible.

And so it was that, with an internal sigh, Lily left Marshall snoring peacefully in bed and made her way over to Barney's apartment at three in the morning.

All things considered, it was the least she could do for the poor, pathetic, emotional pubescent of a man. After all, for all of Barney's own sentimental deficiencies, he'd been there for her (and had traveled cross-country to get there) even when she didn't ask for it.

Things like that were what reassured Lily when she found herself questioning her friendship with Barney. His lifestyle wasn't exactly in sync with her own, and half of the time she found him and everything he stood for morally despicable. And then he would do something kind, or generous, or selfless without any expectation of reward, gain, or praise, and she'd realize that, in spite of everything, Barney really was a good person. One who had, time and time again, proven to be deeply dedicated to his friends.

What sort of buddy would she be if she didn't reciprocate?

Five minutes after getting the phone call, she was knocking on his door. (He really did live close, didn't he?)

Two seconds after that, the door jerked open, a hand latched onto her arm, she let out a small 'eek,' and she was violently pulled into the apartment.

In the next second the door had been closed and Barney was pointing a stern finger at her. "First, you sold me out to your husband." He glared. "I'm very upset with you for this and haven't forgiven you in the slightest."

That was fair. "Okay." Nobody liked having their secret love being revealed to the entirety of Manhattan, which was exactly what would happen as soon as Marshall was released out into the wild and started having conversations with other humans again. He really had no will power when it came to these hush-hush matters.

Barney evaluated her understanding before slowly lowering his finger. "So long as we're clear."

Lily nodded. "We are."

"Great." He relaxed and looked around idly for a moment, and Lily wondered if she had imagined the she-shriek.

Then he lunged forward, grasped both of her shoulders in his hands and shook her in desperation. "Lily, make it stop!"

Lily tried not to look as horrified as she felt.

She hadn't even known people could contort their faces like that.

"Make what stop?"

"Feelings!" he yelled, letting her go and throwing himself dramatically on the couch. "I want them gone, and I want them gone now, and you have to tell me how to get rid of them!" He made a small choking sound and rested his head on the arm of the sofa.

Lily resisted the urge to 'aw' at him.

He was so in love – it was adorable.

She made her way to a chair and patted her forlorn friend's head reassuringly. "What happened?"

He sat up, took a deep breath, and exploded with word throw up. "I went over to Robin's and there was rain and touching and that infectious Distraction Reaction. And then there was a picture, with Ted and your wedding and couples." He turned to Lily franticly. "I don't do weddings, you hear me Lily?"

She nodded in what she hoped was a very serious and agreeable fashion. Kids always like to know that their feelings are being taken seriously, even if they are just babbling nonsense.

Barney continued. "I'm not a couple guy. I'm too awesome for a 'we,' you understand?" He paused, grinning. "After all, the last two letters of awesome are 'me.'" He raised an expectant eyebrow at her. "Eh?"

Lily frowned and shook her head.

Not his best work.

He let out a disappointed huff and then shook himself. "But then I think about Robin and California and…" He let out another sob and clenched at her arm. "Lily! Get rid of the feelings nooow!" he whined.

Poor, poor boy. She did some more head patting. "Barney, it doesn't work like that."

"Well it should!" he insisted, leaping to his feet and beginning to pace. "I feel like I have an incurable disease." He stopped. "Oh God. Maybe it's cancer." He ran a hand through his hair. "That's what it is, what it's always been. Cancer! Terminal cancer!" He let out a sigh. "I'm so relieved."

Only with Barney would terminal cancer be a welcome relief from feelings. "This doesn't have to be a bad thing!"

"I don't see how it can be a good thing." He sent her a funny glance. "Have you seen what chemo does to a person?"

She rolled her eyes. "Barney, stop." She stood up as well, put on her serious face, grabbed his shoulders, and looked him directly in the eye. "Why is this bothering you so much?"

"Because it's not right, that's why! It goes against the natural order of things!" A longing look came across his features as he stared at some spot over her shoulder, no doubt imagining Robin. "I can barely stand not being around her, and then when I am around her, all I can think about is how much I –" he looked back at Lily, coughed and lost the longing look. " – want to do her."

And if cancer didn't work as a good replacement for feelings, he would just have to make do with sex.

Lily rolled his eyes and indulged him. Always communicate with kids in a language they can understand. In Barney's case, sleazebagary.

She gave him an encouraging smile. "Nothing's wrong with wanting to do her, Barney. It's natural – it's what emotionally secure people do."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Not me!"

Lily sighed. "Barney, how many women have you scandalized and/or left for dead this week?"

Barney tilted his head contemplatively. "None."

"How many old people did you ruthlessly take advantage of because 'they were asking for it'?"

He furrowed his brow. "None."

"How many children have you made cry?"

"None." Now he was frowning with displeasure.

"How many children have you manipulated to sleep with their mothers?"

"None." He shook his head in disappointment. "Man, I am off my game."

Lily took a deep breath and reminded herself that patience was a virtue. And that friends didn't hit friends across the head for being emotional retards. "Barney, you're going to have to realize that," she utilized the wonderful marvel of air-quotes, "'wanting to do' Robin isn't something that's making you sick." She gave his shoulders a squeeze. "It's making you better."

"At what?" Barney scoffed, raising a speculative eyebrow.

She sent him a gentle smile. "Being human."

For the small amount of time it took for Lily to remove her hands from Barney's shoulders, his face had that shocked, still quality of someone who had just been told a truth they didn't want to hear.

And then he started speaking sleazebag again. "Peh. Yeah, uh-huh. Better, sure." Barney looked around the room in a slightly desperate fashion, clearly seeking something to end the conversation in speedily.

"So when are you and Marshall planning on having kids?"

Lily grumbled. Stupid Distraction Reaction.

THE NEXT DAY

Ted used to be better at this stuff. Nay, he used to be great at this stuff. Super-power great. When it came to the commitment, relationshippy stuff that he had spent the past three years of his life determinedly seeking out, Ted was the master. He was the Superman of boyfriends and hoping to get an upgrade to Superhusband in the near future.

Why was it that now, right when everything he ever wanted was in his reach, he had managed to loose his heroic boyfriend abilities?

Suffice it to say, his talk with Stella hadn't gone well. She had lied and he was upset, but she couldn't seem to grasp why he was angry. It wasn't about Star Wars (okay – it mostly wasn't about Star Wars), and it wasn't about Stella. It was about the both of them.

It wasn't that they didn't care for each other. He loved her and she loved him, but it was becoming more and more apparent with every passing day that love by itself might not be enough.

See, Ted was a fan of the small stuff. The big things were important too, without question, but the real strength of a relationship was in the details. Little things that made a connection special in it's own right, not just because of love, but because of… history. Things like blue French horns, cupcake care packages and olives. But he and Stella, they weren't good at the small things.

They had the big stuff covered, no problem. Ted was ready to spend the rest of his life with Stella, they could make each other laugh for hours on end, they had a natural attraction and appreciation for one another, they both wanted their family to grow and Ted already loved Lucy just as much as he loved her mother. Love, commitment, chemistry, humor, family – they had all of those down pat.

Then why hadn't they come up obnoxious nicknames for each other? Or a game involving 'general's, 'major's and the ilk that drove everyone crazy? Why didn't they have a favorite place to eat dinner every Wednesday night when they were both too tired to cook, or a board game that they insisted on playing together whenever possible?

Where were the details?

So, the morning after their fight, all Ted wanted to do was forget about those missing intricacies. All of the little things that were wrong with the way he and Stella were going about their relationship needed to disappear, if only for a few hours. And so he went the one place a person could to forget their troubles and descend into happiness.

He went to brunch.

It was a tradition spanning back decades. Whenever something was wrong in the world, people sat down and ate their way through it. Who was Ted to deny this benchmark of human society, this glorious breakfast/lunch combo that could, in all likelihood, be the first step toward world peace?

And it wasn't just Ted he thought this way. Oh no. The entire gang (with the exception of Barney, who thought it was all too 'pedestrian') was on his side. Brunch was their default comfort food location, their place to regroup and rebuild strength after a harrowing ordeal. (He couldn't help but wonder what Stella thought of brunch.)

With this knowledge in mind he really shouldn't have been terribly surprised when, a good twenty minutes after he had sat down with his first plate at their favorite brunch spot (it had a bar to go along with the brunch buffet – a novel and brilliant development for those overpowered by their burdens), another full plate of food clattered onto his table across from him.

Ted jerked his head up from his beer and pancakes (which was a lot tastier combination than it sounded) to greet his fellow sufferer. "Robin?"

Robin sat down, waved, and took a bit sip of her mimosa. "Hey Ted." She then proceeded to dig into her mountain of food with vigor.

Well, at least it was a comfort to know that he wasn't the only who had a bad night.

But Robin had just gotten a job she had been striving toward her entire professional career. Why the need for brunch?

Ted quickly complied recent events, newly acquired information and frowned.

Barney.

Of course, he couldn't be certain. Nothing was certain any more. Evidence had been submitted that Barney Stinson might actually have human emotions – ones vulnerable to the same obsessive, embarrassing and pain-inducing ways of relationships.

Or maybe not. Maybe the Barnicle really was just going through another awkward phase, like he had said.

Or maybe all this lovey dovey talk was just the excuse he needed to get what he wanted.

Ted glowered at the mere possibility.

If Barney had broken the bro-code again…

Ted shifted in his seat for a few more minutes, eventually easing his way into the topic of a certain Mr. Stinson.

"So if I ask you something right now that verges on the overly personal and weird, how would you react?"

Of course, why ease into something if you could just crash right through it?

Robin raised a nervous eyebrow. "Confusion, surprise and no small amount of intrigue." She took another bite of eggs. Or was that mashed potatoes?

Ted leaned forward. "What's up with you and Barney?"

She promptly choked on her eggs/mashed potatoes. "Me and Barney?" she coughed out. "Nothing. Not a thing." She took another gulp of her mimosa. "How about that baseball, eh?"

The Distraction Reaction – gave them away every time.

"I knew it!" Another one-night stand, then. So much for the power of love. Ted was going to make Barney cry. Maybe something that involved suits and bleach. "I knew he wouldn't be able to keep it in his pants or make good on just one promise in his entire life –"

Robin's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

He gestured toward her while taking a huge bite of his sausage. "I mawd hrm prormis tr learve yrou alrone."

"You what?"

Ted swallowed. "I made him promise to leave –"

"I understood you, Ted."

Ted nodded in appreciation. Impressive.

Robin didn't seem to be terribly concerned with her food-in-mouth translation skills, staring at him as her eye twitched in a way that he knew couldn't be good. "What exactly do you think happened?"

He rolled his eyes at her, seemingly intentional, thickness. "Activities beyond that of the PG-13 variety."

Barney was so dead. This was the last straw. What was going to have to happen before the man started taking their friendship seriously?

Ted took another gigantic bite of sausage to work out the frustration.

More twitching ensued from Robin as she leaned forward. "Ted, nothing happened."

Ted's mouth fell open and he lost some of his sausage.

"And I can't believe that you would restrict Barney's interactions with me. Don't I get a say in any of this?"

Ted shook his head.

She glared.

"It's a bro thing."

She kept scowling at him, but he did his best to ignore it (no easy task, with that Canadian scowl). Women would just never get the bro code.

He had other matters of interest here. Ted shifted forward in his seat. "Wait, so if Barney didn't have sex with you and then leave before the sheets had settled, why are you at brunch?"

"I –" Robin opened and closed her mouth a few times before taking her knife and fork to her turkey. "I don't need to explain myself to you." She swallowed half of the bird right there and then.

He studied her. "It has something to do with you and Barney, I know that."

She gulped down her food (another impressive feat) and glared at him. "Hey Ted, what's happening with you and Stella?"

Ted blinked like a dear caught in the headlights for a few extended minutes. "Baseball's great."

Why was it always the stupid, infectious, useless, Distraction Reaction?

"Ah-ha!" Robin yelled in triumph. "That's why you're here, right? Things didn't go well last night when you tried to defend breaking up with your fiancé over Star Wars?" She laughed bitterly. "Big surprise there!"

"First," Ted muttered. "That movie's a pinnacle of our modern culture. Second, we haven't broken up, we're on a break. And third, we didn't decide to go on this break because of Star Wars." He moved on to his soup and sipped up the cream of tomato angrily.

"Then why did you 'go on a break,' eh Ted?" Robin asked. "And why are you here this afternoon after you two were supposed to have your talk? Did you decide to end things because she didn't think Jurassic Park was the best novel and movie combo of the century?"

Ted took in another spoonful of soup and scowled while Robin shoved her mouth full of potatoes and glared.

The stare-off continued until they both swallowed.

Ted took a breath of air and decided to be the bigger man. "Okay, fine," he said, still eyeing Robin wearily. "I'll tell you what's really happening with Stella if you tell me what's up with you and Barney."

Robin narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You first."

"Dammit," Ted grumbled.

Robin grinned, content that her curiosity was about to be satisfied, and sat up eagerly in her seat while munching on mixed vegetables. "Spril Morsby."

He took a breath. "I love Stella."

Robin nodded and swallowed. "You better – she has a great shoe collection to borrow from and I'd hate to lose it."

He scratched at his hair, frowning. "But it's not –"

"Yes?" Robin asked with a smug lit, fork poised over more turkey.

Oh no. He wasn't going to have any of that self-satisfied arrogance while he spilled the beans on the details of his private life. He leaned back into his chair. "Your turn."

She frowned. "What?"

"This is a give and take thing we're doing here. I've given a little." He motioned toward her. "Now it's your turn."

Robin glared.

"It's fair!"

With a sigh she set down her fork and regarded him seriously. "I like Barney – we all do, right?" She paused, gathering her thoughts. "But lately I've noticed that I might –" she held up an emphasizing finger, "- might, like him in ways that go against my better judgment."

Ted tilted his head in interest. "How so?"

Robin laughed. "Oh, no." She nodded to him leadingly. "Sing it."

He sighed and braced himself. "I love Stella, but it's not the same way that I love you guys."

Robin opened her mouth, only to be met with Ted's challenging smirk.

She rolled her eyes. "Barney's a good person," she began. "But he's not exactly an outstanding citizen you point out proudly to the world as one of your best friends."

"I'll do anything for Marshall, Lily, you, Barney," Ted obligingly continued. "But I can't give up a movie for the woman I'm about to marry." He held up a halting hand at the snicker he knew was building in Robin. "Granted that it's an awesome movie that we shouldn't make light of."

Robin smirked, shook her head, and got on with her own end of the bargain. "He says he loves me."

Ted's eyes widened.

"Oh, stop that," Robin said dismissively. "He told Lily. Of course I know."

Ted shrugged. It was true. The Eriksens didn't have a secretive bone in either of their bodies. It would have been embarrassing if it wasn't so repulsively adorable of them.

Robin frowned. "But it doesn't really matter, does it? I mean, is Barney actually capable of loving another person for more than the few hours it takes to get them undressed and take care of business?" She shook herself slightly.

Ted took another large gulp of air, knowing that what he was going to say next, the hard parts, needed his full attention. "I love Stella." And he really, truly did. "And I think she's great. But she's not my friend, not the way you guys are." He sighed. "Not yet."

Robin, similarly wrapped up in her thoughts, turned to him with something that almost looked like hope. "But the fact that Barney's said anything about it – that means something, doesn't it?"

"And she's noticed – we both have – that what she and I have, it isn't the same as what we have as a group. None of the little things…" He ran a hand through his hair. "And she's upset, for perfectly valid reasons. I am too"

"But what if it doesn't?" Robin rubbed at her forehead. "What if this… crush is just something he's working through?"

Ted gazed dejectedly down at his food. "I don't know, this far into the relationship, if I have the right to guarantee a true friendship will develop with Stella when I'm not completely positive it will."

"What if he snaps out of it in a week and he realizes that he hasn't changed at all?" She let out a bitter laugh. "That all he wants is a new lady friend for the night every night of the rest of his life?"

"And how can I marry a woman I won't always put first, even before you guys?" He looked up to Robin desperately. "How can I do that to someone I love?" What could be worse than marrying someone who didn't love you in every way they could?

Robin's eyes remained locked on her plate. "What if I'm falling in love with him when he only thinks he's in love with me?"

Ted's eyes went wide.

As soon as the words left her mouth Robin's gaze shot upward and she clamped a hand over her mouth.

And with that confession, the complex situation became infinitely more convoluted.

She slowly lowered her hand, sputtering, explaining. "I mean – not love love, obviously." She forced a laugh. "Just… friendly love." Robin coughed out another laugh before giving up and resting her head in her hands.

She shot Ted a small, bitter smirk from under her fingers. "Which is apparently something you and Stella could do with more of."

Why was it that everybody seemed to have an exasperating excess of love to go around, but not one of them had managed to put it in the right places?

Ted let out a huge sigh. "Wow."

"Yeah," Robin agreed. She looked up to him again. "What're we going to do, Ted?"

"Eat," he said. It was brunch, after all. Complex, convoluted situations were exactly what brunch was there for. "We're going to eat and drink a whole hell of a lot until things start making sense again." With that he picked up his knife and fork and set to work on his first gigantic plate.

Robin grinned. "I think the drinking might be counter-productive to that."

"Shush now and sip your mimosa."