In October of 2017, my year in Germany ended. I renewed my contract with WWN to get a New York-based position and headed back to the States.
You mean, you secretly moved in with Barney.
I didn't 'secretly move in with Barney!' I just… stayed with him… for a few months… without telling any of you guys. Big difference.
Wow. I can't decide if you two suck worse at being divorced, or at being honest with us, your closest friends.
…So there I was, moving back to New York!
2018.
"That's all you have?" Barney asks as Robin takes her second bag out of the cab.
"What did you expect me to show up here with?" she asks, placing the bag down on the sidewalk. She gives him a look, then looks at the bags, but he doesn't take the hint.
"You had a whole house in Germany."
"I got rid of most of it. It was mostly IKEA anyway." Robin pays the driver, sees Barney experimentally lift one of the bags out of the corner of her eye. He raises it a couple of inches and puts it down again. The cab merges back into the New York traffic, and it's suddenly a little — weird. Standing outside of Barney's building. Her building. Whatever. "Were you planning to grab one of those, there, buddy?" she asks dryly, grabbing her wheel bag by the handle.
He picks up the duffle again and rests the strap on his shoulder, grimacing. The doorman opens the door for them, greeting Barney with a Mr. Stinson and Robin with a weird look. She resists the urge to wave, say I'm back, bitches! She smiles.
Barney stops walking; points at her. "She's living here again, by the way," he tells the doorman. "With me. Again. In my apartment." He's smirking, or maybe grinning — Robin grabs him by the elbow and pulls him towards the elevator.
"What are you doing?"
"What do you mean?" He looks confused, then his expression clears. "George is our doorman. He's gotta know you're supposed to be here."
"Yeah, but…" she doesn't know. "Forget it." She presses the elevator call button, and they wait.
"Uhm," says Barney, scratching at his neck. "There's something I wanted to ask you. It's kinda important."
"Shoot," she says, but he doesn't immediately ask, not until she turns her head to frown quizzically at him. He's frowning too, at the elevator doors, and doesn't end up asking until they're on their way up to his — their — floor. She wants to press him, but she forces herself to wait.
"Are we… Are we gonna be banging while you stay here?" he asks between the third and fourth floors.
"Yeah," she says. "Obviously. Didn't we already agree on that?" She sort of smirks over at him, but he's looking at the elevator buttons this time. The emergency stop lever. "Come on, dude, not in here. Let me take a shower first."
His expression changes — so fast she isn't sure how to translate it, blank-frown-close-eyes — but then he focuses his attention back on her, smirking. "Or," Barney begins.
By the end of the week, Robin is settled in: her stuff taken out of storage and put back into Barney's closets, her toiletries back in the bathroom, her mugs back in the cupboards, her desk back at WWN's New York headquarters.
After that, she reaches out to the others. Ted and Tracy are swamped with the kids and Tracy's foundation is in the news, causing a new client pile-up, so they aren't able to meet up right away, but Lily clears her entire schedule so they can spend the day together.
It's been way too long: they go to a Korean massage, go out to lunch, do some shopping in Manhattan — Lily buys a pair of new shoes, but Robin doesn't spot anything she's into. Robin's missed this, just wandering around gossiping with her best friend. It's like there's been no time or distance at all between them, and in person, even Lily's boring baby talk doesn't seem so bad.
Robin feels guilty the entire time.
They stop for coffee towards the end of the afternoon, some coffeeshop in the old neighborhood. It's weird being here again, now that none of them live here anymore. "Right?" Lily says when Robin tells her. "It's crazy. Whenever I'm in Manhattan I always end up coming back here, even though I never have a reason."
"We should start having weekly MacLaren's nights or something," Robin says, taking a sip of her latte.
"Maybe more like biweekly. Or monthly!" Lily seems excited by the prospect of going to their bar once a month, but Robin tries not to frown. Weekly had sounded pretty sparse to her. Lily sobers. "Come on, Robin. We all have kids now. To be honest, me and Marshall haven't actually seen Ted in person since… August? Lately it's just e-mail chains and text messaging."
"So is that what it's going to be like from now on?" Robin asks glumly. "We only get together once a month?"
Lily looks hesitant. "I mean, it's different for you and Barney." Robin looks up, and Lily nods. "Yeah, he came over for dinner last week? Since he's single, it's actually easier to get together with him than with Ted and Tracy and the kids."
Robin can see the logic behind that, but the mention of Barney gives her the guilty feeling all over again. "Oh, and, speaking of Barney," Lily says, and Robin almost jumps.
"What about him?" she asks, hoping she sounds casual and cool.
"How are you two doing?"
"What do you mean?" Robin takes a sip of coffee to try and hide her mouth.
"Well, you guys divorced and said you were going to stay friends, but neither one of you talk about one another…"
"We're fine," Robin says.
"So you do talk?" Lily's interested, which means Robin has to play this carefully. She looks down at her cup.
"Sure. Sometimes." All she can think is: We did it this morning. "I mean, yeah, we divorced, and that's kind of weird, obviously," We don't usually have sex first thing in the morning like that, but today he was looking real good and I just went for it. "But I think we're still friendly." Usually we're more before-bed kind of people. Sex, pajamas, sleep. Yeah, traditional, but it's convenient, you know? Since we just moved in together again, we're kind of been going at it more than usual, but I'm not complaining if you know what I mean. "We're still friends." Who knows, I might even jump him again when I get home.
Robin's trying her hardest to keep a blank expression, to not look guilty or embarrassed or, worse, pleased. Lily frowns at her. "So if I invited you both to our Halloween party this year it wouldn't be a problem? Or Thanksgiving? Robots vs. Wrestlers?"
"Nope, nope, and nope. We should be fine for Christmas, too," Robin says, still thinking of her rediscovered sex life. Normally she'd be telling Lily all about it, in lurid detail. A large part of her wants to. They always would talk about this stuff, even back a million years ago when Robin was dating Ted; it was always fun, comparing notes on their men, Marshall's habits and Robin's guys, Robin test marketing certain positions and tricks they'd heard and reporting back to let Lily decide if she wanted to bring them up with Marshall. But it wouldn't be a good idea this time, Robin knows.
Lily would probably yell at her or something. "Are you sure?" Lily asks. "I know it's gotta still be kind of awkward. We wouldn't force you to sit together or anything."
"Seriously, Lil," Robin says, looking at her coffee. "Barney and I still get along… great."
She feels guilty the rest of the afternoon.
It's easy, living with Barney. She'd sort of forgotten.
She remembers their fighting, their near fighting, sharp words and abrupt silences as they dropped the argument. Going to bed still seething, wanting to fight, sometimes going most of a day without talking to him because she knew if she opened her mouth it'd come out as a scream. How he'd call her constantly, demanding to know when she'd be home, if she'd be home, or not call and be sulky and annoyed when she got back, until finally they'd had a big fight in Argentina and agreed to call it a draw.
Those were the things Robin had remembered.
There were also things she had forgotten.
How he almost always wakes up first, sets the coffee maker, leaves to secretly work out. How he refuses to put milk in his coffee, but drowns it in sugar, and remembers how she takes hers. How he forgets to eat at least two meals a day, and how it makes her leave work as soon as she can after the evening news, to make sure he at least has dinner, how she scrapes their takeout onto real plates and feels like somehow she's taking care of him.
How he gets entranced on his laptop, watching YouTube videos and writing mysterious blog posts. How he can go hours not even noticing she exists, writing or watching a dumb movie, playing video games and forgetting her, until she sits next to him on the sofa and watches him lose focus. How nice it is, to relax on the sofa, watch a movie, eat takeout from the container, her legs draped over his lap, his fingers playing with the ankle of her jeans, sliding over her bare skin, picking at and ruining more than one pair of gauzy tights.
The way he sleeps — all over the place, his leg dropped over her ankles, his hand mysteriously ending up on her forehead. He hadn't done that when she'd crashed here over the past few years; she hadn't noticed he must have been tense all those times, sleeping lightly, lying still on his back, ready to react. She'd forgotten what a pain in the ass it was to share a bed with a relaxed Barney Stinson, to have to shove random limbs off her at least once per night.
Having sex that isn't a fight or a contest or a way of acknowledging something without saying the words; waking up with him close, sitting on or over or against him on the sofa, his arm draped around the back. Kissing him sometimes just because he said something sweet or he did something nice or because she's coming home from or going to work.
She'd forgotten.
They go to Lily and Marshall's Halloween party. It's a little weird. No one checks up on them, treats Robin like she's a time bomb of grief anymore, but when Barney comes over to chat with her Robin sees everyone staring over his shoulder, waiting for an explosion. He hands her a red cup of spiked punch and starts going on about a new development in this feud he has with a rival blogger, something that's been going on for a few days now —
She takes a sip of too-sweet punch. "So, how have you been?" she asks pointedly.
He looks confused.
"You sound like you're doing well," Robin says, loudly. She can see Ted approaching at three o'clock. "It has been such a long time since we have talked," she adds stiffly.
"Oh." Barney's face falls. "Yeah," he says. "I'm awesome." For such a pathological liar, he's doing a crappy job of it now.
"I'm glad to hear it." They're going to catch on, she thinks at him loudly.
"How was Germany?" he asks, very loudly. "Did you climb any cool towers?" She frowns. It feels like a dig, like an inside joke he's daring her to respond to, and she doesn't have time for it.
"No," she says. "Hey, nice talking to you!" She pats his arm and intercepts Ted and avoids Barney the rest of the party.
Thanksgiving goes better.
She offers to arrive at Ted and Tracy's early to 'help,' which ends up meaning babysit while we cook, thanks so much, Robin. Barney arrives a little bit after Marshall and Lily and the kids; Ted has a seating chart prepared, and places them on opposite ends and sides of the table.
She'd worried that Barney hadn't been listening when she told him earlier they couldn't be too friendly, they couldn't act like they were too close. But he's boisterous and cheerful and barely talks to her all night.
Although Robin left after him, Barney arrives home late. She's waiting for him on the couch. "Did you get trapped in the parade or something?" she asks, curious and a little put out.
For a second he looks… something… but then he laughs and goes with it, spinning a tale ripped straight from Ferris Bueller, but she gets the feeling his heart's not in it.
It's at Marshall and Lily's Christmas party that things come to a head.
Robin can feel that something isn't right; that in the two months she's been back in the States things aren't going according to plan. Barney's been tense and unhappy, and if he's avoiding fighting about it, she has to admit that she is too.
They'd arrived separately again, both with presents for their nieces and nephews and friends. The guys had all exchanged their usual tacky Star Wars merchandise and video games; Robin had gotten Tracy an all-inclusive spa day ("one ticket only, sorry, Ted") and Lily the boots she'd been hinting about. Barney had inflicted SkyMall on everyone for the tenth year in a row. Nothing surprising, nothing unexpected: Robin had felt comfortable and warm, surrounded by the people she loved most, sipping from a mug of spiked eggnog in front of Lily and Marshall's fireplace, watching Penny go crazy over some LEGO set.
Then Barney sat next to her on the loveseat. "I got you something too," he says, handing her a box the size of a paperback, wrapped in black paper.
"Oh," Robin says, taking it. "I didn't get you anything," she says carefully, both because she can see Lily not just eavesdropping but watching them, and as a warning to Barney himself: they'd gone over this. She'd told him to be cool.
"That's cool," he says, his eyes bright and expression so eager she smiles nervously. "Open it! I picked it out, didn't even have a guy do it."
"Picked it out from what, Hammacher Schlemmer?" Ted asks teasingly.
"Woah, and we're stuck with just the low grade stuff?" Marshall jokes.
Barney laughs and turns to address them — Robin, smiling nervously, unwraps the paper, taking advantage of the guys's lapsed attention.
It's a hinged box, the lid stamped HW. Her heart stops.
Robin squeezes her eyes closed, unable to name the rush of emotions. Fear, anxiety, embarrassment. Excitement, happiness, something else she can't name. This is too much. What is he doing? She's desperate to know what he bought her; she doesn't want to see.
"Thank you," she starts to say woodenly, but it's too late, because Lily squeals:
"Is that a Harry Winston?"
"What?" Tracy asks, piqued.
"Who's Harry Winston?" Marshall whispers, probably to Ted.
It's too late, Robin forces her eyes open and forces herself to smile, opening the box as everyone looks, Barney grinning proudly at her side. It's a necklace, a strand of tiny diamonds that must have cost more than her first apartment. It's too much; she would never wear it; it's beautiful; she loves it. "This is too much," she tells him, with frustrated, unhappy tears in her eyes.
"But isn't it awesome?" he says coaxingly.
"Jesus Christ, Barney," Ted says, awestruck, having caught a glimpse of the necklace before Robin snapped the lid shut.
"Wow, and you only got us a Death Star toaster?" Tracy jokes, trying to lighten the mood.
"Excuse me," Robin says. She pushes the box back into Barney's hands as she stands up from the loveseat, and has to lock herself in the bathroom until she calms back down.
Marshall is the one to catch her later, when Robin is aggressively loading his and Lily's dishwasher for them. No one had mentioned anything or made eye contact with her or Barney when she'd come out of the bathroom, but it's too much to hope for they'd really let it go. "Hey," he says.
"Hey," she says, stabbing some forks into the silverware caddy.
Marshall comes over to the sink and starts rinsing plates. "So, uh, we all know that Barney kind of sucks at figuring out what to buy people," he says. He hands her a plate and she shoves it into the dishwasher. "He probably was trying to make amends with you."
"What do you mean?" Robin asks tiredly, pushing her hair out of her face. She knows exactly what he was doing.
"Well… you guys divorced, and you don't get along anymore. Lily thinks he misses you." Robin frowns. "As a friend," Marshall adds.
She shakes her head. "We get along fine." Might as well get this conversation out of the way, she supposes. She thinks of the gift she bought him; a tie pin he'd been broadly hinting he wanted. She'd left it at home, to give to him later. It didn't cost anywhere close to what he'd spent. She doesn't know if she can give it to him now; she's angry, angry he'd do this when she'd warned him not to, in front of everyone.
"I know you guys say you do," Marshall says slowly.
"But?" Robin begins to load cups into the dishwasher.
"Well, you do pretty much ignore him whenever we're all together." Marshall shrugs. "If you don't want to talk to him… it's probably weird after the divorce? But Lily thinks that's why he got you some fancy necklace. He's trying to be friends with you again."
"That doesn't make any sense," Robin says, shooing him out of the way so she can get under the sink and grab the detergent.
"If you don't want to be friends with him, we totally support you," Marshall says earnestly, then sobers, "but maybe you should let him know clearly where you stand?" Where you stand. "It's just that it would suck if you guys started to fight all the time."
She wants to argue — they get along fine, they get along great — but she realizes what a hollow argument that would be. Robin presses the start button on the dishwasher. "Yeah, okay," she says. "I will."
"I mean, what the hell?" she says, later that night, pacing barefoot in their living room.
"It was a Christmas present! It's Christmas! You're supposed to like it!" Barney says from where he's slouched into the sofa, his arms crossed.
"That's not the point! We agreed not to tell anyone —" As Robin says it, she realizes she's not sure if they did agree, or what they agreed on. "We're not together! Thank you, it's a beautiful necklace, but it's not appropriate, Barney! You don't give things like that to your ex, you give them a, a book or a gift card!"
He's clenching his jaw and wants dearly to leave, she can tell, but she won't let him, not until he understands.
"I thought you'd like it," he says angrily.
She does. It's gorgeous. But it's also poison. "And what, that I'd wear it on a lunchdate with Lily? What would she think? It'll give everyone the wrong idea —" he stands up suddenly. "No, look, you can't leave, not until we get this figured out," Robin says. She tries to smile, calm herself down. "I'm not mad, I'm just…"
"There's nothing to figure out," he says, clearly angry. "I won't buy you anything or talk to you in public. Okay?"
That isn't what she meant — she feels stung. "You're being dramatic."
"So when am I allowed to talk to you?" he asks, his voice cuttingly sarcastic. "Is there a dance card or something?"
"Of course you can talk to me! I just don't want our friends to get the wrong idea about us!" He shifts his jaw. "God, Barney! Every holiday it's like — I mean, what happens if we don't talk about this? You try to kiss me on New Year's in front of everyone?"
He looks startled and hurt and then angry again, deeply, furiously upset, and Robin suddenly wonders if she has terribly misjudged this entire situation. "No," he says, his voice icy, "please. Why would I wanna kiss you, when New York is full of so many hotter women?"
It's a threat and it's a slap, and she doesn't know what to say, what the right answer is. She can't tell him no if she won't tell him yes. She feels her cheeks reddening, and he raises himself to his full height and slams the door when he goes.
She makes it up to him.
She doesn't know what else to do, how else to do it; after a day or two, when he's come back home and they've cooled down, she puts on something he likes and makes it up to him. She doesn't want him with anyone but her; she doesn't want to talk about it again.
She takes the New Year's broadcast so she doesn't have to see what Barney does at Marshall and Lily's New Year's Party, but as soon as she's off camera she sees him waiting for her in the studio. They start off 2018 by drinking with some of her coworkers, and the next time everyone meets up, in January for Daisy's fifth birthday, he's polite and distant and pleasant to everyone in attendance.
But she knows it's not a solution.
He's the one to break their silence. It's two days before Valentine's Day, and she's had an uneasy feeling all week, that Lily and Tracy and Ted's romantic Facebook posts would get him thinking, the way it's gotten her thinking.
They haven't fought, or talked about it, since Christmas.
She made dinner that night. She's been trying to learn, since coming back to New York and remembering just how bad Barney is at taking care of himself; he eats junk and drinks and, hell, he's getting older, and she hates this domestic urge in herself, this weird caretaker thing, but if she doesn't watch out for him, who will? She'd made burnt green beans and undercooked salmon and was feeling pretty pleased with herself until Barney stopped prodding at his untouched salmon to say: "Uh, can I…" She watches as he screws his entire face up. "…words," he grits out, "to… you… about… saying, have to?"
"Did you just try to say we need to talk?" Robin asks, immediately both amused and deeply wary. He nods helplessly. She nods too, unsure what he's about to say and terrified.
He frowns intently down at his green beans, and takes a breath that raises and lowers his shoulders. "I want to get back together."
She'd been bracing herself for — she doesn't know. Move out, maybe. "What?" she asks, unable to stop a surprised chuckle.
He looks up at her. "I want to get back together. Officially." He frowns. "Like, not marred officially. Unless you're into that. Just… together."
She's smiling, she can't help it. "Barney, what are you talking about?"
He steels himself. "We already live together. You're not traveling anymore. We like each other and we bang all the time. So we just tell our friends, guess what, Desperation Day did its magic, we're together again."
"I'm in New York for now," she says. He immediately frowns, but she doesn't look away. She's on a two year contract, but who knows what's going to happen in the future? That escape, that exit route, she needs that. What if things go badly? And she needs to go? Her expression softens. "Why do we need to tell our friends anything? What does it matter what they think?"
"I just think it'd be cool," he says quietly.
"I think things are fine as they are," she says, pushing her empty plate away from her. She waits for a second, but he doesn't say anything, so she tries to change the subject. "By the way, I was talking to Fran, at work? She says her Barcelona story is getting greenlit, so if you wanted to take a vacation…"
"Why don't you wanna be with me?" He interrupts.
"…we could — What?"
He shrugs. "Why not? I'm awesome. I'm the best-dressed person you know, not to mention the best looking and best in the sack." She feels herself start to smile a little. "Plus, we already live together," he says, with emphasis.
"Why are you so desperate to tell our friends?" Robin asks with a nervous laugh.
"Why don't you want them to know?"
She rubs her forehead. "They'll… they'll just get nosy, they'll start judging us, and it's not like we're together," she says, blurts out, desperately, desperate to get off this pathway she doesn't want to go down. "C'mon. We're just sleeping together. We're casual. Friends — roommates with benefits."
He's looking at her, looking at her, and she knows she just screwed up, but she doesn't know what else to say here, what else to do. He looks like he did in that hotel room in Argentina when she suggested calling it a draw; like he did in the bar that time years ago, the night she'd misjudged his reaction to Kevin. "And it's great," she says, desperate to salvage what she can of this. "But it's not a relationship."
"You've gotten mad whenever I've even talked about other girls," he says slowly, like it's a point he's proving.
"That's because you're you!" she laughs, it's not funny but she tries to make it a joke, and instantly knows she just made it so much worse. That isn't what she meant — except it is, because he had a girl in his shower once, and he's been loyal as far as she knows, but it's not like she doesn't have a right to be wary, jealous — except they're not together, so maybe he's right to call her on it, but if he thought it was due to feelings…
Feelings…
Why does he have to make it about that? That's what he's really asking here, isn't it? If she's in love with him? If she wants to promise him her life, her heart, for a second time, when they both know now, have proof, that it won't last or work? He expects her to fall for it twice? She doesn't blame him — maybe it's been fun to pretend — maybe this arrangement is all the benefits and none of the problems — but their friends would only care about love and feelings and she can't, she can't ever give herself over to that again. She has an escape route now, a way to act like it never happened and leave if she needs to, if she gets hurt — she never has to stand in front of anyone and promise anything and fail again.
He's still looking at her, but his expression has flattened. "I…" he starts to say, quietly, desperately, one last card up his sleeve.
She cuts him off. "No," she says, shaking her head, closing her eyes. "Don't say it. Please don't. It's just gonna —"
"Fuck," he swears, under his breath, standing up from the table. In a second, he's composed again, anger masking the hurt she's just done him. Again, again, why would he want to do this again? Doesn't he know what she does? Hasn't he learned? She stays where she is and looks at her plate like a chastened child.
"Look," she says. She's not even sure he's still in the room. Her voice sounds small. "How about I, um, go to Barcelona. It'll be a couple of weeks, and we'll both have calmed down, and then… when I get back…" She takes a breath. "We can talk."
She hears the apartment door open and slam shut as Barney leaves. He hadn't eaten any of his dinner.
Three weeks in Barcelona turns into four, and then five. She keeps hoping he'll call her, text her, like a post on Facebook, something, but he doesn't contact her.
She debates contacting him, but she doesn't feel like it's her right, like she messed up, wasn't as kind as she should have been, even if he was the one who decided to bring feelings into it.
March turns into April. The Madrid office is understaffed, and Robin makes a deal to stay; Spain is sunny and warmer than New York this time of year, and she doesn't know where she stands back home. She tells the others it's a great career opportunity, even though it isn't.
April turns to May and she's trying to get the bureau into shape, focusing on that instead of that she fucked up, she screwed up, Barney never wants to talk to her again. The more time passes, the less sure she is that she did the right thing — even if she hadn't wanted to try again, couldn't she have gone along with him anyway? If that had kept him in her life? Would it have been so awful?
She's sure he'll show up for their anniversary. Sure he'll call a week beforehand or just appear the day of at her cramped flat, smiling boyishly, holding a bottle of Spanish wine and complaining about the food. She's sure he'll love the beaches and sunglasses and complain about the heat. She's so sure, so convinced, that she takes the day off — he'll be here —
He doesn't follow her to Spain.
She spends the day alone.
She meets Javi a month later.
Can I ask a clarifying question?
Four days a week unless it's a holiday. Then it's no holds barred.
Okay, buddy, maybe wait until after we've gotten through our coffee date before you start plotting the course of that one.
Also, not my question. What I was going to ask — on behalf of, I believe, all of us — was… WHY THE HELL ARE YOU TWO SO BAD AT COMMUNICATING LIKE ADULTS!?
Pooh bear, sweetie, calm down. You're absolutely right about these bastards, but no yelling on my wedding day.
I'm going to get us all more drinks before we get to the next part. Lilypad, how're you holding up?
Ohhh, I'm just waiting for the big, ugly, accidental pregnancy shoe to drop and hopefully destroy these idiots.
You know, I'm starting to get the feeling you guys aren't as invested in this romantic tale as you said you would be.
Although, speaking of my amazing, epic achievements and not-so-great-even-though-Ellie-is-awesome ones…