Will we ever say the words we're feeling
Reach down underneath and tear down all the walls


September 2011

"So, Lily's gonna have a baby," Barney says, sliding into the booth across from Robin, fresh drink in hand.

"Yeah." It's late. The rest of the gang have gone home. She's been drinking too much and everything's starting to jumble up and twist together – her heart included.

"That's pretty huge – and I'm not even talking about the future size of her waistline." He starts to raise his hand for a high five but stops at the look on her face.

"Seriously, Barney, it is a big deal." Taking a cue from her mood, he nods sagely. "It kind of makes you think about your own life."

He looks down into his scotch, swirling it in the glass. "Yeah," he agrees. But it sounds a little too deep, a little too meaningful, so he pulls back with a nonchalant, "I mean, I guess so."

Silence stretches as they're both deep in thought.

Robin doesn't know why she says it now. Maybe it's all this talk of babies, maybe it's because she's feeling reflective, maybe it's his upcoming 'coffee date' with Nora. Most likely it's the alcohol. Whatever the cause, she finds herself blurting, "You know, there was a time right after we broke up when I thought I might be pregnant."

His eyebrow arches up in surprise, but his voice is soft as he says, "You never told me."

She's tellingly silent, thinking that at the time he was too busy with scuba suits and playbooks to notice or care.

"You could have told me," he says, as if reading her mind.

She shrugs. "Turns out there was nothing to tell."

Silence falls again. Barney's left to ponder a different outcome, and surprisingly the thought of having a child with Robin is not nearly as terrifying as it should be for the founder of Not A Father's Day – a thought which in and of itself is deeply disturbing.

"And if there had been?" he asks. He can't quite bring himself to say the words 'our baby'. "Something to tell, I mean."

She looks over at him for the first time since bringing up their 'close call'. "If there had been, you would have known."

He nods and sips his scotch. Lost in thought, he stares so hard at his glass it seems he's attempting to find the mysteries of life inside the amber liquid. "Can you imagine the kind of father I'd have made?" he scoffs. "Worse than mine even."

"Oh, I don't know."

He looks up at that, finally meeting her gaze.

There's a poignant earnestness in her eyes as she tells him, "I don't believe you're nearly as bad as you think you are."

And suddenly there's a stifling air of sadness around them. Sadness mixed with….. something. Something else just as dangerous. Something they've tacitly agreed to ignore.

"Well, next time, promise you'll tell me," he says distractedly, taking a long gulp.

Robin laughs bittersweetly, and he realizes his stupid mistake. They both know there won't be a 'next time'. There can't be. They already danced around that idea once before throwing it away.

"I have to go," she says hurriedly and walks away, leaving him drinking there alone.