Disclaimer: In between the last time I wrote a HIMYM fic and now, I obviously bought the rights to the series. That's why I'm still writing fanfiction for it.
A/N: While writing Robin's Diary in Captivity, I briefly thought about making it into a multi-chaptered fic. Then two things happened: I got a few reviews asking me to continue the story and the next episode of HIMYM came out. So I will tentatively say that this fic is now a series of semi-connected episode tags. It will probably be a bit AU, if only because I have no idea what direction they plan on taking Robin's character arc.
Tag to The Broath.
Chapter Two: A Plethora of Postscripts
Dear Diary,
OK, so maybe Lily isn't forcing me to write in you anymore. Technically. But waste not, want not, and all that crap.
…Fine, it's nice to have someone to talk to, alright? Things are still weird between me and Ted; Lily and Marshall are all wrapped up in their impending parenthood; and Barney…
This sucks.
I still haven't managed to find an apartment. Patrice means well, but she's a little needy. Also, she insists on doing my laundry, but she irons my trousers all wrong. It's driving me insane!
- Robin
P.S. Note to self: Buy a lock for this thing and find a good hiding spot for it. Diaries can keep secrets, but only so as long as they remain unread by certain snooping friends.
P.P.S. Damn it, Patrice/Lily/whoever is reading this, stop it! Stop reading right now or something really nasty is going to happen to you. Karma's a total bitch and you'll deserve whatever you get if you keep reading.
P.P.P.S. Marshall has stopped reading, but that didn't stop those of you who don't believe in the supernatural, did it? So I'll give you a more concrete reason: if I ever find out that you read this (and believe you me, I have my ways), I'll shove a toonie so far up your ass, it'll block your windpipe.
-–- -–- -–- -–- -–-
Dear Diary,
I zoned out at work again today, this time in the middle of a meeting. Thank god I'm good at bullshitting, or it would have been even more awkward. I don't even remember what I said, but apparently it passed muster.
Apartment hunting will commence again tomorrow. I viewed a couple of places today, but all of them were way out of my price range.
- Robin
P.S. Apparently Barney is dating a stripper.
-–- -–- -–- -–- -–-
Dear Diary,
My mother called today. Apparently I'm wasting the remainder of my "best years" here. Good to know. Of course, coming from her, that's practically a declaration of concern and therefore love.
No luck finding an affordable apartment yet. And I forgot to file some important paperwork today, so I have to go in early tomorrow to take care of it. Guess it's microwaved Kraft Dinner for breakfast again tomorrow morning.
- Robin
P.S. I kind of miss Kevin. I mean, I didn't love him, not the way I should have, not the way that I lov– never mind. I miss Ted, too; he doesn't return my calls anymore. And, y'know, I miss other people. But I won't think about them right now or I'll start crying. And Sherbatsky men don't cry, even if they're really women.
-–- -–- -–- -–- -–-
Dear Diary,
So remember when I mentioned that Barney was dating a stripper? A stripper who scammed him out of a ridiculous amount of cash? I tried to be non-judgmental when I met her, really I did, but I can't help it: she's a controlling bitch. I mean, she wouldn't even let Barney go to the bathroom. And I gagged each time he called her another cutesy pet name. "Bunnyface?" "Beauty swan?" "Sugar Lamb?" "Baby Bear?" "Puppy Pie?" Ewwww. Just… ewwww. No.
Why is he being so subservient, anyway? That isn't like the Barney I know. The Barney I knew. God, this is probably all my fault. I messed him up, didn't I? I messed Ted up too. And probably Kevin as well. It's like I ruin everything I touch.
Speaking of ruining everything I touch, the boss asked me to come into his office at five o'clock on Friday. You know what means, right? Fire o'clock. I won't even have a job anymore. I hate my life.
And no, Patrice, I don't want your stupid cookies.
- Robin
P.S. Actually, the cookies are pretty good.
P.P.S. Apparently their sex is "mind-blowing." Whatever. It's not like I care.
P.P.P.S. They're planning to move in together, you know.
P.P.P.P.S. OK, it's decided, they aren't going to last. We have a plan in the works.
P.P.P.P.P.S. But Quinn-the-bitch has an amazing rent-controlled apartment that she's willing to lease if she moves in with Barney. It's almost as nice as that one I saw over on Central Park West. Life is so unfair.
P.P. – oh, to hell with this. A lot of 'P's before the S. These cookies really are delicious. I should thank Patrice. After I'm done eating them all, that is.
-–- -–- -–- -–- -–-
Dear Diary,
The Quinntervention failed horribly. Apparently Barney really liked this girl, God knows why. But he liked her and was happy with her and oh God, what did we do? He deserves to be happy, even if it is with a bitch like Quinn. (Though I won't lie: I'm glad they broke up.)
I swear, though, I almost had that apartment. I would have had it if Ted hadn't been such a sneaky little bitch himself. There I was, oh-so-conveniently in the neighborhood, having just bought a bottle of wine, and I thought, 'Hey, I should share this with Quinn. Really get to know her, since she's so important to Barney.' Right?
So I dropped in on her and when I was getting my pocket knife out of my purse to open the wine, there were my credit scores! What a coincidence, eh? Or at least that's what I said before showing them to her. We were just starting to discuss her career when Ted showed up. Damn it, Ted, I was trying to get more dirt on her! Why do you always have to interrupt?
- Robin
P.S. I still have a stomachache after all of those cookies. Thanks, Patrice.
P.P.S. Barney looked really upset. So did Quinn-the-bitch.
P.P.P.S. Where did she get the money to pay for an expensive trip to Hawaii, though? I mean, c'mon, if being a stripper pays that well, I'm in the wrong field.
P.P.P.P.S. My mother's right, I am a failure. What am I going to do if I lose my job? I can't live with Patrice forever, even if she did offer, and I refuse to go crawling back home. …I suppose I could always strip. I mean, I'm good at it. Just ask – never mind.
-–- -–- -–- -–- -–-
Dear Diary,
So the whole thing was a fake. Ha ha, very funny. (Although watching Marshall and Ted kiss was pretty hilarious, I grant them that.)
Of course, now the two of them are moving in together after all. And, y'know, I'm glad for them. (I'm so freakin' glad for them that I'm narrowly restraining myself from smashing one of Patrice's plates.) I couldn't even at look Barney when they gave us the news. Not that I've been able to do that lately anyway, mind you.
At least the two of them aren't calling each other those sickeningly fluffy nicknames anymore.
I finally exploded at Ted today. He's a great guy, but he's so self-centered sometimes. He just doesn't get it, you know? I'm dealing with stuff too. And while I feel really guilty for not loving him the way he wants, that doesn't give him a free pass to be an ass.
Oh, and I've picked out my outfit for meeting with the boss tomorrow. If I'm going to get fired, I'm going to look damn hot when it happens.
- Robin
P.S. Even though she isn't as much of a bitch as we thought, I still sort of want to tear Quinn's eyes out. Is that unhealthy? I have a bad feeling that a therapist would tell me that it is.
P.P.S. Marshall has nicknamed Quinn and Barney 'Quarney.' He never gave me and Barney a couple name.
P.P.P.S. Not that I care. It's a stupid name, it sounds like 'quark' or 'blarney' or something. Actually, couple names are stupid to begin with. Couples are stupid. People are stupid. You're stupid.
-–- -–- -–- -–- -–-
Dear Diary,
I entered my boss' office with dread this evening, only to discover that a miracle had occurred. I wasn't being fired, I was getting a promotion! So guess who's the new co-anchor of the evening news? That's right, you're looking at her.
Apparently the CEO of WWN saw me on the New Years' broadcast and liked me; he said I had "moxie." And apparently having moxie translates into making more money, which means that I can actually afford that awesome place I saw over on Central Park West.
Talked to Ted again today. He said that he's willing to go back to normal with me. Too bad it isn't working. It's weird, I haven't felt this uncomfortable around Ted in a long time. And it totally sucks; we can't even sit alone and have a beer together without it getting awkward. There's no way I'll ever be able to discuss certain things with him. I'd talk to Marshall, but he was rooting for Ted and me, so it'd be kind of awkward. And I'd talk to Lily, but she can't keep a secret to save her life. So… yeah, you're my best bet for emotional outpourings. Not that I'm doing that or anything.
Still, real job! Nice new apartment! Pay raise! I can actually afford to eat out again. Maybe I'll buy that pair of shoes I was eyeing last week…
- Robin
P.S. In a weird way, I'm going to miss living with Patrice. But only a little bit. She does suck at ironing, after all.
If you read all the way down to here, imaginary!Robin will want to make good on her threat of choking you via toonie. If you review, though, I might be able to persuade her that physically harming you isn't in her best interests. ;-)
