OH HI remember this story? yeah, i have no excuse for how long this chapter took me — i got wicked stuck, but hopefully it's enjoyable, and we can get rolling with this 'fic again! thanks for your patience! and, to two people in particular: told you i'd get it up today!
July 17th, 2016
Ted finishes telling the story of the Perfect Week, but has nothing else to say. He and Tracy sit beside one another in bed, not touching, and he watches out of the corner of his eye as Tracy takes a mechanical sip of her tea. "Perfect Week," she echoes.
"Perfect Month," he says.
Tracy's silent for a little bit.
"Last time, he thought he was going to lose his job," Ted says, to fill in the silence. "And, there's all this stuff now, with the FBI…"
Louisa still hangs heavily in his mind, unable to look at him in his office. But Barney's had pregnancy scares before. There's Frank Ross, too, AltruCell, GNB, and the FBI — stressors, problems, and Ted speaks Barney-ese well enough to make the tenuous connection: things Barney can't control, things that scare him, and then something he can do, a task he can meet and complete. A bigger challenge for a bigger stressor. But he imagines it, Barney, a forty year old man, chasing college girls, girls like Louisa, and feels only horrified revulsion. A tug of guilt.
He's leaving out Robin again. But Ted doesn't know, can't parse his own, let alone Barney's, feelings about it. He'd been upset, even a little angry, too, when Robin had taken off without a word or backwards glance. He understands completely that she wouldn't want to talk to Barney… but what about her other friends? What about him? Lily's said she's been in sporadic Skype contact with Robin, but Ted knew her first, okay, loved her first, and even if it's not at all like that anymore, doesn't that count for something?
Had Barney chosen to vent to him about Robin, were Barney upset about Robin, Ted could understand it. But if he were, why would he be sleeping around like this? Why would he deny it? Why would he simply be acting like a grosser, worse version of himself?
"So this is his version of a midlife crisis?" Tracy asks, after a few minutes of contemplative silence.
Ted sighs. "I think so."
"What happened last time?"
Ted thinks back. "He… had his week. And then he moved on to the next thing, I guess." They'd cheered for him, he remembers. But it was different; they were younger. He doesn't tell Tracy. "It was actually right around the time I went out with Cindy," he says, his mind skittering to something safer.
Tracy doesn't take the bait. "So you want to just let him have his month and be done with it?" she asks shrewdly.
She's kind of giving him her I know you, Ted Mosby face, so he takes a deep breath and admits it. "Obviously I don't want to. But what else can I do?"
One of the things Ted loves about Tracy is that she always knows, gets, people, always has an idea or an answer. But she only bites her lip and stares at her mug. "Stop him," she says, and he can tell she has no more idea than he does as to how.
Ted looks down at his hands, folded over the blanket. "I don't suppose you have another big heartwarming speech to give him?" he asks, meaning for it to be kind of a joke.
"Isn't that kinda more your job?" she shoots back, not really smiling.
Perfect Week, Perfect Month. It had only been a few weeks — months? — after Barney's breakup with Robin back then, too. He's leaving her out again. Maybe this is Barney's way of coping with a breakup, maybe it'll work for him, maybe in some awful, twisted way…
"Yeah," Ted says. "I guess it is."
July 20th, 2016
Marshall wrestles the folding stroller, diaper bag, and his own briefcase down the stairs with one hand, his other holding Daisy's. The little girl picks her way down the building's front steps, and Marshall dreams for the thousandth time of living in a house without ten million (approximate) steep, concrete steps between the door and the sidewalk. They've done this hundreds of times, and he's always worried she'll fall. "Marvin!" he yells, as his son races down the steps at breakneck speed.
Marvin pauses on the sidewalk, points towards the bar. "It's Uncle Barney!"
"Marv!" Marshall calls again, as Marvin vanishes around the steps and out of his line of sight; he hurries down the rest of the steps as fast as he can with Daisy.
"It's cool!" calls Barney from around the corner, and Marshall relaxes slightly. Sensing it's okay, Daisy wriggles her hand free of his and runs after her brother: when Marshall finishes maneuvering his items down the stairs, he sees Barney holding Daisy, his free hand on Marvin's head… and the woman he had just been talking to.
She looks like the last time she slept was one drug habit and two kids ago. "Put out your cigarette," Barney hisses at her, making a frantic gesture.
"Hi," Marshall says, trying to smile.
"Hey, Marsh, this is…"
"Stacy," says the woman. She drags on her cigarette.
"Stacy," says Barney. He looks like he hasn't slept either. He smells like an ashtray. He looks uncomfortable, nervous. "Stace, this is Marshall, and Marv, and Daisy-day…"
It's eight in the morning.
July 21st, 2016
On Thursday, Ted meets with the FBI about Barney's case and the GNB building. He's still angry about it all; how used he feels; that Barney hadn't given him the GNB design project because they're friends or that Barney thought he was the best architect for the job, but because he was the architect Barney knew. He tries not to think of it like that, but it's not easy.
The meeting itself goes okay, not that Ted has much of a frame of reference for these things: he meets Frank Ross and some lawyers and Barney. Barney flirts with his publicist the entire time; subtly, but Ted knows the signs. Ted tries to ignore it. He goes over some documents and contracts with Ross, struggles to remember some dates and meetings from years ago, and that's pretty much it.
He and Barney head out together after. Ted kinda wants to head home, vent a little to Tracy, still sore about the building, but Barney follows him down the steps, his shoes clicking loudly against the pavement. "Hey, dude, wait up!" he says, falling into step with Ted. Ted doesn't immediately reply. "C'mon, dude. It wasn't that bad. I told you it'd be cool. You're totally still a 'real architect' or whatever the hell —"
"Dude," Ted says. He isn't really sure what he intends to say. He feels sick inside, used, but he knows that Barney had good intentions, and it's just all a mess in his head. "I'm still kinda pissed off about this, okay? Just don't."
Barney drops it. "Wanna get a drink?"
He sighs. "Sure."
They don't go to MacLaren's; they find a place on Lafayette and order drinks at the bar. It's a sport's bar, but it's pretty early in the evening and not much of a crowd. Ted asks Barney a little about the case; Barney is vague, but Ted isn't sure if he's being secretive or just doesn't care too much about the legal details. The trial is going forward; there's a few evidentiary hearings and witness lists to go through; Barney's role in all of this is a little unclear.
"So, you're, what, just hanging around, waiting for the trial?" Ted asks, because the more he thinks about it, the less sure he is.
"Not just me," Barney says. "You're on the witness list now, too."
"I'm not going to be called, am I?" he asks.
Barney shrugs. "Dude, no clue."
"Seriously? It's your case, isn't it?"
"Ted, please," Barney says, swirling the contents of his glass. "It's more than just 'my case.' This case is me. I put it all together, me. Heroically, tragically —"
"Tragically?"
"Dramatically?"
Ted kinda smiles into his beer. "Dramatically for sure. But you're a witness too, right?"
"Yeah," Barney says. "So anyway, it was just me and Greg, mano-a-mano, except he totally had no idea I was plotting his demise the whole —" He cuts himself off mid-sentence to nod and grin at a passing woman. "Yeah."
"Seriously?" Ted asks, suddenly kind of annoyed again.
"What?"
"You spent all morning hitting on your publicist, which, by the way, bad idea, and now you're trying to pick up some random chick?" Ted says the last part in a low voice.
Barney doesn't deny it. "So what if I am? This Perfect Month ain't going to do itself."
"This 'perfect month' is disgusting," Ted says.
"Whatever," Barney scoffs. "Are we gonna hang out, or do you need to go home and change your tampon?"
He's been getting meaner lately, in little bits. Ted knows he should push it, but he doesn't.
They change the subject, and finish their drinks.
July 23rd, 2016
On Tuesday, Marshall swings by the Duane Reade near their apartment to pick up pre-natal meds. He spots Barney leaning against a cosmetics display, talking to a woman with heavy eyeliner and multiple piercings.
He doesn't know what Barney is doing here; he doesn't know what he should say. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, refills Lily's prescription, and leaves without saying anything. He's not sure Barney noticed him; he hopes not.
He tells Lily later, and Lily tells Tracy over the phone.
"This is like the world's grossest game of 'Clue,'" Tracy says. She sighs. "Don't tell Ted about this."
"Ted should know about this," Lily says.
"He's been obsessing over Barney pretty much non-stop," Tracy says. She sighs. "This has to stop."
"Oh, trust me, I'm with you there," Lily says, her voice flat and dangerous. "How's Louisa doing?"
"I don't know," says Tracy. "She dropped Ted's class."
The women are silent for a moment. "Have you seen Barney recently?" Lily asks.
"I talked to him like a week ago? But I haven't been to the city in a while." Tracy pauses. "I don't want to see him… like this." She takes in a quick breath. "I mean… Ted told me stories, but, if this is seriously what he's like… you know?"
"This is worse than he used to be," Lily says. "A little bit worse."
"It just, it's disgusting," Tracy says, building up some nerve as she speaks. "It's killing Ted, it's all any of us are even talking about any more, how Barney's just — having some kind of sleazy mid-life crisis, and I seriously don't like it. I don't like him. I mean — you know what I mean. Not like this. Not this guy. Sure, the first time we met, he tried to pick me up, but, I don't know. Somehow that was kind of cute? And this? Not even a little bit."
Lily doesn't reply.
"Lil? God, sorry for going off on you," Tracy says.
"No, it's okay," Lily says.
"I just, whenever Ted brings him up — I can't say anything, Ted just wants to talk about how there's a reason and Barney will snap out of it and he keeps trying to defend him, and that's sweet, it's great, I love that Ted cares so much, but —" Tracy laughs shakily, "you can't help people who don't wanna be helped, you know?"
"I know," says Lily, her voice flat. "Trust me, I know."
July 25th, 2016
Soccer mom in a sweatshirt and jeans; the deli across the street from the foundation Tracy works for.
She sees him through the window; keeps walking.
July 27th, 2016
Ted answers the phone in the middle of the night. "Ted, where are you!" Barney yells. He hears music in the background; loud and thudding.
"I'm in bed," he groans. "I'm trying to sleep."
"It isn't even midnight. On a Saturday."
"I have a kid," Ted says. "I'm tired."
Barney doesn't seem to have an immediate retort, but rallies. "Well, check it! I —" He launches into his story, but Ted pulls the phone away from his ear, Tracy's hand on his elbow. She struggles to sit up, tangled in their sheets, and looks at him. He looks back. She doesn't say anything, not aloud, but she doesn't have to. The quiet of their bedroom, the whoosh of the ceiling fan, Tracy lit faintly by street lamps outside, and the tinny sound of club music, Barney's excited voice on the phone.
C'mon, Tracy is telling him.
Ted puts the phone back to his ear. "Look, buddy, I can't go out tonight. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"
He hangs up.
July 30th
Lily is barely even surprised when Barney is at her and Marshall's dry cleaner's on Monday. "Okay, are you stalking us, or what?" she asks, throwing two of Marshall's suits on the counter, interrupting Barney's conversation with the lady behind it.
"This is… my dry cleaner's," Barney lies unconvincingly, unable to keep from looking a little horrified by the prospect of getting his clothes laundered across the street from a McDonald's.
The clerk seems offended; takes Lily's suits. "What's the deal, Stinson?" she asks, impatient and running on a low level cocktail of pregnancy and annoyance. The dry clean clerk had to be in her sixties. Was Barney just throwing himself at anyone who'd take him?
She had an unhappy feeling the answer was yes.
"I… was in the neighborhood," Barney says, straightening out his suit.
"Just like you were in the neighborhood when Marshall saw you at the pharmacy? Or when Tracy saw you at work? Or —"
"Okay," Barney says, grabbing Lily by the elbow and trying to steer her away from the counter; she shakes him off and glares and he backs away.
"If this is some gross way of trying to get attention," she says.
"It's not, okay?" Barney rolls his eyes and looks convincingly incredulous, but Lily continues on:
"Then it's working."
Barney looks taken aback; confused.
Lily throws her hands up, spreads them. "Congrats, Barney! You've got our attention. Ted's going gray, Tracy is madder than I've ever seen her, and my poor Marshmallow is beating himself up about ignoring your cries for help. You're the center of attention right now!" She doesn't try to lower her voice; hide her frustration, her anger; that they're standing in a dry cleaner's and its day 23 of 30 in the world's most disgusting challenge, and that Lily knows this, that they all know it, and if she could be hitting him right now, she would be. She's still thinking about it. "So what's the next step?"
He's still taken aback, and Lily takes a mean pleasure in seeing it. "Next step?"
The clerk comes back to the counter; Lily finishes her transaction, takes her ticket, enjoys seeing Barney sweat. He tries to slide for the door; she follows him out. It wouldn't be hard for Barney to lose her; Lily's short and five months pregnant, but he lets her keep pace. Lily doesn't know where they're headed; she follows Barney down the block, across the street, down 71st.
"You don't have a plan, do you?" she asks, when Barney isn't forthcoming.
"Why do I need a plan?" he asks. He sounds a little tense, annoyed, and Lily's glad of it. "Maybe I'm doing this for fun."
She wants to ask how this is fun, how any of this is fun, but she can sense the sarcastic retort and bites her tongue. There are a lot of things she wants to know, wants the answer to. Is he insane? Why is he doing this? Does he care about any of them, how it's affecting them? About Ted? About poor Louisa, lost in the chaos?
"You're telling me you're making us all miserable for fun?" Lily asks, daring him to say yes.
"No — it —" Barney doesn't know what to say. "C'mon, Lil," he says, trying to be charming now, "You guys don't have to worry about me, out on the streets, being awesome."
"Barney, you're the only one of us I do worry about," she says. She worries about Ted's sanity, and Tracy's career and of course she hopes their relationship stays great and little Penny stays healthy and they finally get around to getting married someday; she worries constantly about Marvin (will he love preschool?) and Daisy (she isn't talking as much as she should at her age) and this new baby and Marshall, who is trying so hard to love his horrible job.
She worries about Robin, who left Ted's house that day and might as well have vanished off the face of the earth, who sends her one-line messages on Skype at odd hours of the day and night, Robin, her best friend, who doesn't seem to care about any of them anymore.
But Lily knows — Lily hopes — that they'll all be fine. That if Robin has stopped caring, that's her problem. That Marshall will do wonderfully at his shitty job. That Ted and Tracy are perfect and happy together.
Barney's the only one she looks at and just doesn't know.
The day is hot and humid, the streets crowded and smelly. They're headed towards the park. Lily bites her tongue to keep the questions down, keep from shouting at him, meddling. She isn't even sure what she's doing, following him: her back hurts, and she's sweaty and hot. The baby hasn't stopped moving in about three hours, and she kind of wishes it'd take a nap, and as the Dakota comes into sight, she realizes Barney has no reply to give her.
Lily focuses on the greenery of Central Park. "Sometimes I just imagine getting some call in the middle of the night and…" And he's in trouble. Jail.
Hurt, dead.
It's not just pregnancy hormones that make her sniffle.
"Hey," he says. "I'm fine."
They cross the street, head into the shade of the park. This time, Lily takes the lead, steers them to a bench. He follows, sits beside her. She puts a hand on her belly. "Are you?" she asks him.
"Supa-fine," he says immediately.
"No," says Lily. It's in asking that she realizes, the one thing, the one big thing, she hasn't done. None of them have done. "How are you feeling?"
He hesitates; looking for a trap. "About what?"
She forces herself to shrug. "Just…" About the trial. About Ted's stress levels, about how mad Tracy is at him, about working for the FBI, about his job, about Greg Fisher, about Robin.
About Robin, who won't return Lily's calls, who hasn't looked back once, who abandoned all of them like they were nothing, like ten years of friendship was nothing, who earlier this year told Lily she and Barney were doing great, who earlier this year announced their divorce. Robin, who Barney hasn't mentioned once.
Maybe it was a mutual breakup; maybe years of sexual tension and the looks they'd give when they thought no one noticed had just faded into nothing; maybe Lily had been wrong about their love and depth of feelings — but Robin just left, without a word, and if he hated it so much, wouldn't Barney have thrown a party to celebrate being single?
She remembers — not the last time, one of the last times, before Barney and Robin had left for Argentina, in the hotel in Vermont. Robin telling her they were good. That Barney was planning some kind of surprise for her. That they were fine, and happy; they'd left dinner early, the two of them, and Lily had believed it.
Lily wants to ask him about Robin, the second forbidden topic around the gang.
She wants to ask him about the baby; the third.
But she can see Barney, imagine him jumping up and running, changing the subject, chickening out the way he always has, always does, and she wants to push him, set him down in front of a phone or computer, but she doesn't want one perfect month to become two.
"Just…" she says again, takes a deep breath. "How are you?" Nonchalant. Casual.
He looks at her blankly, waiting for a trap or push. "I'm okay," he says, finally.
"How's your hand?"
"I got the stitches out last week," he says, turning his palm. She sees the healing cut, the paler, pinker skin around it. He looks at her; expecting her to push.
She doesn't.
"So you're feeling better?"
"Yeah," he says. "I'm feeling okay."
It's hard, not saying anything more.
"How's the baby?" he asks. It's the first time in a long time, she thinks, that he's asked that kind of question.
"The bastard won't stop moving, he's wearing me out," she says.
"It's a boy?"
"We don't know," she says. "I think we're gonna let it be a surprise. Marshall wants another boy."
"You should start a pool."
"On the kid's gender?"
He nods. "I bet you six hundred dollars that it's a girl," Barney announces grandly, with some of his usual vigor.
"Six dollars even," she counters.
"Ten."
"Done."
They shake on it, and he's smiling now.
They chat for a little while, about normal things, easy things, and Lily doesn't push and doesn't ask and doesn't lecture, and Barney doesn't check out any of the women who pass in front of them. After a while, Lily has to go get Marvin from daycare; Barney stands with her.
"Hey," he says, after they've said their goodbyes.
Lily turns back, hoping.
He sticks his hands in his pockets. "So, you know. There's a witness hearing I'm supposed to go to on Wednesday. An AltruCell exec and a couple defense people."
She waits, but he just kinda stands there. "Do you want me to come?" Lily asks.
He nods quickly, then shrugs. "Whatever. It ain't a thing."
She smiles. "Yeah," says Lily, "I'll be there."
August 3rd, 2016
Ted rushes up the courthouse steps, late for the hearing. There had been traffic, and he'd, well, he'd argued with Tracy about it; Lily had called and said she was going to be there, so did Ted really have to? He hadn't decided until that morning.
It stung, honestly: that for the first time, Barney would reach out for someone, and it wouldn't be Ted. Isn't Ted his best friend? Hasn't Ted always been there for Barney?
Except that wasn't true, not lately. He'd blown him off, been impatient, annoyed… and that was what made the decision for him, and brought him to the courthouse this morning.
There's not a big crowd, either inside or outside the courthouse, and once he's through security, Ted looks around, trying to figure out where Barney's hearing is being held: he doesn't see any signs, so he looks for a guard or clerk to ask.
He spots a woman standing nearby. He's not sure if she's a lawyer or what, but she doesn't seem to be doing anything, and Ted doesn't think he'd be interrupting anything if he approaches. "Excuse me," he says. She looks up at him, then beside her, like there's someone else he could be asking. "You wouldn't happen to know where the, uh, Greg Fisher hearing is, would you?" Ted asks.
The woman points. "Right there," she says. She brushes a strand of blonde hair over her shoulder. "Are you with the defense?"
"The prosecution," Ted corrects, and then has to correct himself. "Well, I'm a friend of one of the prosecution. I'm a friend of Barney Stinson… most of the time," he adds, under his breath.
She chuckles at his unintended joke, and he smiles. "Are you also—"
The door she pointed at opens, and a guard steps out. "Ms Lowe?" He calls.
She stands up. "Gotta run," she says, smiling.
"Thanks for your help," Ted calls after her. She hurries to the courtroom, and it strikes Ted that he might as well follow her in. The guard stops him at the door; with court already underway, the guard wants to know if he's a witness or member of the public.
"Ted Mosby," he says. "Member of the public. I'm a friend of Mr Stinson's, I'm here to support him," Ted says, feeling a little better about himself as he does.
"Sorry, Mr Mosby," the guard says, consulting a list. "I have you on the list as a potential witness. You'll have to wait outside in case you're called."
Well, crap.
Ted briefly considers trying to argue his case, but gives up before he begins. Before he can make his way over to a bench to wait it out, the courtroom door opens again. He turns automatically.
It's Barney, being led by the arm by Agent Ross out of the courtroom. He struggles; the FBI agent doesn't let him break free. When they're past the checkpoint, Ross releases Barney; he takes a big step away and straightens his jacket in a huff. "I'm fine!" he says.
"I don't care how you feel," Ross replies. They're speaking in low voices; Ted automatically drifts closer. The courtroom door opens again; Lily appears, looking confused. "You're not going back in there."
"But I wanna," Barney insists.
"Hey, what just happened?" Lily asks the two of them. "Hi, Ted," she adds.
Ross sighs heavily. "Mr Stinson is a witness in this case… just as Mr Mosby is," he adds, in acknowledgement of Ted's arrival. "He is to have no contact with this part of proceedings."
"That's stupid," Barney whines. He moves closer to Lily, and Ted frowns at him.
He looks over at Agent Ross. "I thought Barney was supposed to be here?"
Ross gives him a level look. "In the courthouse? Yes. Court room? Absolutely not."
"I want to go back in there," Barney says again.
"No," says Ross. The men look at one another, and to Ted's mild surprise, Barney folds without another word: turns away, takes several steps down the hall. He runs his hand over his face.
"Excuse me," Ross tells Ted and Lily; they exchange a look as he heads back into court.
Barney is still pacing, halfway down the hall now. "What was that?" Ted asks.
Lily shakes her head. "I don't know. I was a few rows back," she says in a low voice. "The lawyers were having a bench conference before calling the next witness, and Barney… suddenly got really worked up. While the lawyers were up there, Barney kept leaning over to Agent Ross. The judge told him to cut it out, and Ross just kinda dragged him out here."
They look over at Barney, now heading back to them. His expression is cloudy, and Ted is surprised to see it — the glassiness in his eyes, the tightness of his jaw, the redness of his face. He looks angry. Anxious. "Dude, what's going on?"
"I'm taking off," Barney says, not even looking at Ted.
"You can't just take off," he says. He looks at Lily.
"Hey, how are you feeling?" she asks him.
He gives her a long look. "Yeah, I gotta go," he says, already brushing past them towards the door.
Ted immediately starts to follow, but Lily reaches out, stops him.
"Maybe we should give him some space," she says.
"Seriously?" Lily bites her lip, but Barney has enough of a headway that he's already almost at the door. "What just happened?" Ted asks again.
"I don't know," Lily says, her voice high with frustration. He steers her over to a nearby bench with her pregnancy in mind, and she sits down heavily. "I'm trying to give him some space and he was doing really well, but I don't have a clue what set him off this time."
It's not like he doesn't believe her, but this whole thing is weird. Ted looks down at his hands for a moment, but even when he thinks about it… he has no idea. "So," he says, trying to make a joke of it, "your new strategy is to not interfere in people's lives? How's that going for you?"
"He really was doing better these past couple of days," Lily says, not taking the joke.
"He's been having an insane midlife crisis for weeks," Ted corrects.
"That's not true," Lily says.
"Since when have you been sticking up for him?" Ted asks.
"Don't get me wrong, I think he's a huge assface," she says matter-of-factly.
He laughs. "So what do you mean?"
"He's like a five year old," she says. Ted snorts. "If all you do is tell him no, you're wrong, you're not solving the problem. You have to listen, and help them communicate with you without jumping to judgement. When kids act out, it's for a reason they don't know how to express with their words."
"And that reason is his midlife crisis?" he guesses.
Lily sighs. "Maybe a little more like his wife left him less than a year after they lost their baby."
Any joke about Barney and preschool die before Ted can even make them.
This isn't what Ted wants to talk about.
They don't talk about that. No one talks about it, no one thinks about it. Robin, Robin leaving, Robin god-knows-where, and Barney, smiling and laughing and sleeping with anyone that moves. It's so easy to divide them, to put Robin out of mind and think of Barney as the sleazy asshole he's always been; to forget about those hours Ted sat on the train, on the phone, in the hospital, listening to Robin's doctor tell him about her miscarriages.
Ted, and not Barney, because Barney had fled.
And after that they'd said they were fine, that they'd never wanted kids, but there'd been something off, even Ted could see it, Robin flipping from emotion to emotion, Barney hyper, way more than usual, and then just like that, Robin had been gone and Barney had been the way he'd always been, the way he always is, and no one had said anything, and no one had done anything, and Ted had told himself he was waiting for Barney to want to open up, and Ted — all of them — had known that Barney never would.
He doesn't know, he honestly doesn't know, what Barney must think of all this. Losing Robin must hurt, does hurt, Ted knows as a friend and remembers as an ex and can get it, and even though Barney hasn't been convincingly heart-broken — and then the miscarriage, the hospital, the baby. Foetus. She's ten weeks pregnant, Barney had said.
We weren't going to keep it anyway, Barney had said.
And then, much more recently, wild-eyed in his apartment: I can't have a kid.
Because he had never wanted one, or because he and Robin…
He can't imagine, can't even begin to let himself consider if it were him. If it were Tracy. If they'd tried for another child, and — He can't form the sentence in his mind.
"Come on," Ted says weakly, hoping to convince himself. "She didn't — It was a mutual split, right? Barney and Robin said they were fine, that they were fine with it."
"You can't believe that," Lily says reproachfully. "It's barely been two months."
Two months. It had seemed longer, like something that must have occurred long ago. Two months. But they'd barely seen Barney or Robin before — they'd been out of the country since February, and before that, everyone had given them space to recover… deep down, Ted always suspected they wouldn't last, but that doesn't mean he likes this, wants this. But he had wanted to pretend everything was fine. That it was the past, gone and forgotten.
"Well," he says, because he doesn't know what to say. "I guess Barney officially wins the Robin Scherbatsky Breakup Freakout stakes."
"You and your tramp stamp will forever remain in our hearts," Lily says. Neither of them laugh.
"What do we do?" Ted asks, after a while.
"I don't know," Lily says. "He's shutting down whenever he feels like he's being pushed. I'm trying to… not push."
"So what, we just let him do his perfect month bullshit?" Ted asks. He feels cold with sympathy; regret; but that's still stupid, still awful, still disgusting and horrific. He tried to apologize to Louisa, and she still dropped all his classes, and he doesn't think he can contact her again.
"I don't know," Lily says again, her voice going high. "Maybe if he feels more comfortable, he'll open up."
"Maybe," says Ted, and tries to believe it.
August 4th, 2016.
He gets the call at 2:17 AM. He doesn't check the call ID; who else would be on the other end? "Yeah?" he whispers into the receiver, trying to be quiet. Tracy stirs beside him; snores softly in her sleep.
There's an odd sound on the other end, a steady loud hissing. Ted can't place it, and it worries him. "Barney?" Tinny hissing. "Are you there?"
He's already swinging his legs out of the bed. This isn't a club, isn't Barney trying to call him out to some kind of party or distraction, this is Barney running his hand over his face and leaving court, Lily saying the things none of them ever mention.
At last, Barney speaks. "I can't make it stop."
His voice is hollow and flat and strange and wrong, shaky and uncertain, and there's only a handful of times Ted has ever heard him like this, and one was less than a week ago. "What's going on?" He tugs on a discarded blazer one handed, over his tee-shirt. "Where are you?"
There's a rhythm to the background noise; three beats, shah-shah-shah. "Home," Barney says after a pause that's too long, too long for a one word response, and Ted doesn't know what it is, but it's got to be bad.
"I'll be right there, buddy," he says. "Don't do anything crazy. Hang tight."
He scrawls Tracy some form of note and takes the car, shoving sandals on his feet. Middle of the night, traffic's not bad in White Plains; he makes good time into the city, spends the half hour cursing and clenching at the steering wheel, all of Lily's worries seeming prophetic, all of Tracy's impatience and his own wavering seeming idiotic and heartless. There's a part of him that worries this is all some kind of joke, that Barney's really fine, making him rush into Manhattan at three in the morning just to say I told you, and Ted hates himself for suspecting a trick and hopes, at the same time, that it is.
He remembers getting that first emergency contact call.
He remembers the second, years ago, years later, your friend has been fished out of the Hudson.
Barney doesn't have a great track record with self preservation, with thinking before he acts, reacts, jumps into rivers or in front of buses or into other forms of trouble, taking dares or challenges, going days without sleep and drinking more than he can handle, lacking impulse control or an off switch or someone to tell him stop.
Ted tries to be that person, tried to be that person, and maybe Robin took over for a while, and maybe this is all nothing, or maybe he's jumped in over his head again.
He's just crossing into Manhattan when his phone lights up in the passenger seat; Tracy calling. He ignores it.
Ted finds a parking spot near Barney's building, hurries up to his floor, his apartment. He pounds on the door with an open hand, heedless of any neighbors. He's expecting Barney to answer the door just fine; he's expecting to need his spare key and see — what? Ted's sandal sinks into the carpet outside the door: it's wet.
Wet? He hears the hissing, through the door, and it all comes together.
Ted uses his spare key.
The fire sprinklers are running in Barney's apartment, four cones of water pouring down in the kitchen, the living room, the hall. Everything is soaking wet; the new sofa, the leather chairs are waterlogged, rivulets of water pour over the stormtrooper, puddles form and waterfall off the tables and counters. The carpet is dark with water; a pool of water covers the floor, and the sprinklers keep raining down, splashing and hissing and cold. Ted can't move from the hall for a moment, not understanding what he's looking at, empty cups on the coffee table spilling over with water. The room is cool and wet, but a muggy hot draft pushes in the apartment from outside: the balcony doors are wide open.
Ted crosses the room to the balcony. The ten steps leave his feet wet and shirt sticking to his neck; water running down his face.
Barney's sitting on the floor of the balcony, an empty glass and pack of cigarettes between his splayed legs. He has another in his mouth, his fingers shakily holding it in place as he drags. He doesn't appear to be bleeding, or hurt: if he's drunk or drugged, it's not immediately visible. He looks up, guiltily, at Ted, and Ted waits to feel angry, outraged, something.
He doesn't.
He doesn't feel anything. And Ted doesn't know if he's just lost his capacity to feel in the miles between White Plains and the Upper East Side, or if Barney has just finally bled every last drop of his empathy away.
He's not angry. He's not disappointed. He looks down at Barney, hunched in the corner of a balcony, flooding his apartment and ruining everything inside, and Ted doesn't know what he feels.
"How do you turn it off?" he asks.
Barney looks at him hopelessly; uncertain and confused, his fingers trembling around the cigarette. Ted thought he stopped smoking back in February. He thought Robin had made him quit the previous fall.
"I don't…" Light pours onto them from inside, wet, wavy light, and Barney's pupils are huge and his skin is pale. His hair is still wet from the storm; his suit clings damply to his skin. "I don't know?"
"You've gotta have some fancy code word or switch," Ted says.
Barney shakes his head.
Ted takes a deep breath and heads back inside, soaking himself through as he crosses the living room to a supply closet. He remembers seeing a circuit box in there; the computer that controls Barney's sleazier gadgets. There's water half an inch deep on the floor, but no sprinklers in the closet; Ted scans the various switches and panels.
It turns out there's one labelled sprinklers. Ted turns it off, and the whirring immediately halts.
As simple as that.
A two second fix.
Ted stands there for a minute, waits to feel something. Anger. Some form of humiliation, that he'd drag himself out of bed at this time of night because Barney forgot how to flip a switch; some form of frustration at himself, for dropping everything to fix his friend's worst problems.
But he doesn't.
It's not like Barney to forget something like that.
Ted splashes across the living room. Barney hasn't moved. He detours into the master bedroom — soaked — and the bathroom — dry — and grabs all the towels he can carry, drapes a bathrobe over his shoulders. His hair sticks to his forehead, his sandals are soaked through. Ted takes the whole pile out to the balcony, the still city air, the lingering summer heat. He drops them all on the ground, drapes a towel over his neck.
Barney hasn't moved. The cigarette has burned itself out in his hand, and his eyes are dark and heavy.
"Here," says Ted, throwing a towel at him. It bounces against Barney's arm, falls. "You're gonna get sick, dude," he says. He feels almost like he's looking after Penny when he picks the towel back up for him, wraps it over his friend's shoulders for him.
"I'm fine," Barney says. His voice is off, he sounds distracted: not in his usual dreamy I haven't listened to a word you're saying manner, but like he's barely present. Not present at all.
"How did you manage to set off all your sprinklers?" he asks.
"I don't remember," Barney says vaguely.
Ted remembers Lily's advice. "How are you feeling?" he asks, and it feels like a weird question, because it's not the sort of thing they usually ask one another.
Barney doesn't bother to answer.
Ted leans against the glass of the balcony window, toweling his hair, trying to strategize about the mess behind him. They'll have to dry everything somehow. Pay for all the water damager. Replace furniture and flooring. Barney owns the apartment outright, doesn't he?
It's an exhausting, insurmountable mess. Ted waits to feel angry. Thinks about Penny, and Tracy, and imagines them both gone by this time next year.
"Are you mad at me?" Barney asks.
"I don't know," Ted admits. "Are you drunk? Or high?"
Barney seems to remember his cigarette; tries to take a drag before realize it's burnt out.
"But I came," Ted says.
Barney doesn't say anything.
"Are you okay?" Ted asks.
Barney looks at the railing.
Water drips behind them, off of counters and tables and books and stereos and swords and cups and plates and sinks and chairs and books. Ted tries to guess what is ruined, what might possibly be saved. Paper can't be salvaged, fabric will be destroyed, walls and floors need replaced. Barney has posters but not many pictures; any he has, the others probably have copies of. Hopefully his wardrobe didn't have sprinklers; Ted isn't sure what other keepsakes he owned.
He thinks of the picture he'd seen on the fridge, the only clue Barney still remembered Robin had been part of his life; had existed at all, a picture of her looking away from him, out the door, wistful and quiet on her own wedding day. It's probably destroyed, that photo, soaked and ruined beyond salvation, and Robin somewhere in South America, unable to be touched.
Everything important can be replaced.
"Can you afford to hire someone to clean up for you?" Ted asks.
"Is it bad?" Barney asks; turns around for the first time to look at his apartment. Ted watches his face, but his expression doesn't change, not even in momentary surprise. He closes his eyes. He looks tired. He looks old.
"You can't go on like this," Ted says, looking him in the face, towels draped around all their shoulders, the echoes of traffic rising all around them.
Barney sits and looks into his home.
"I mean it," Ted says. "Flipping between hyper and partying and sleeping around and freaking out and not telling anyone how or why. This is the second time you've trashed your apartment in as many weeks. It has to stop."
He pauses for a reaction, but Barney doesn't give him one.
"It's not healthy. I don't even think you're enjoying it. Lily says we need to give you space and lay off the pressure, but we're all so afraid of hurting you that all we do is say hi, Barney instead of slapping you across the face."
Nothing.
"I'm not going to do that anymore," Ted says. Water drips down inside of the windows. "I'm not going to let you do whatever you want and pretend they're not cries for help. And in return, you're not going to act crazy."
Nothing.
"You're not going to have a perfect month. You're not going to call me at midnight wanting to party. You're not going to pick up girls at our jobs and delis and laundromats, hoping someone will call you on it. You're going to act like a grown up, and we're going to help you clean this place up, and when I ask you if you're okay, I'm not going to be scared you're having a manic episode."
"And we're going to sit with you in court and help you out and we're not going to abandon you, not ever," Ted says, "but you need to stop acting like this."
Nothing.
"Okay?" He licks his lips. "Can we swing that?"
Barney closes his eyes. "Yeah," he says. "Sure."
White Plains, New York.
Tuesday, October 18th, 2016.
I guess you know the rest.
The next day, we all helped Barney clean up his apartment. Lily and Marshall helped him replace his furniture; he stayed here with Tracy and Penny and I for a couple of days while his floors were being replaced. He was pretty quiet while he was here: great with Penny, but not up to his usual standard.
And, well, Tracy's right, kinda. He never really got loud again. He's been kind of quiet and weird ever since, I guess. Annoyed at me, annoyed at Lily and Marshall, annoyed at Trace. I think he felt abandoned, that it took us so long to realize he needed us, and that, and stress of the trial… I don't know. I guess we kind of deserved it.
As far as we can tell, he hasn't been sleeping around, even hitting on anyone, since that night. If he is, he's gotten much more discreet; I haven't asked. I don't think any of us really want to know.
A week or two later the papers started to talk about how sleazy he is. I don't think it was caused by anything he did, thank God, so we're lucky he stopped when he did. But between that and the trial, I'm worried he's going to go off again. I hate to say it, but let him be kind of an asshole. Better that than him sleeping with the wrong person, hurting himself, and screwing up the case for everyone.
But who knows? All we can do is be there for him, and support Barney the best we can.
I mean… that's what family does, you know?
Robin sits out on the porch alone for a long time.
She doesn't know what to feel. She's numb and can recognize it in herself, the tightness of her chest, the coldness of her limbs and nerves. There's too much, too much, twisting around in her head and in Ted's story and in Barney —
She sits on the porch and looks at nothing and thinks about nothing and tries to let it all sink in.
Ted and Tracy leave her alone. Once the sun has set and the yard is noisy with insects and peepers, Ted comes out to sit next to her.
"Hey," he says.
"Hi." She stares out at the trees, tracking the path of a lone firefly.
"Are you okay?" Ted asks.
She doesn't know how to answer; she sighs.
"Yeah; stupid question," Ted says, chuckling.
It all whirls and twists in her head, anger and fear and remorse; betrayal and guilt and shame; some sick part of her hearing it and wanting to protect Barney, take care of him in some animal way; take back every cruel thing she ever thought about him not caring, not wanting, not reacting to the end. Just as much of her hates him, hates him, for acting like this, for doing this, for responding to stress the same way he's always had, tossing her aside without care or remorse.
She doesn't know what she feels.
"Tracy and I think you should stay the night," Ted's saying.
"Yeah, thanks," she says.
"Do you wanna talk about it?"
"Nope," Robin says.
Ted puts his arm around her shoulders. It feels comfortable, warm, brotherly; she leans into it, closes her eyes, enjoys the feeling. She wants to cry, a large part of her: find somewhere small and safe and sob, and she doesn't even know for what. Anger. Loss. Hate. Guilt. Humiliation.
Love.
"The picture," she says, after what feels like a pretty long silence.
"Huh?"
"That picture of me, on the fridge. You went on about it in your story."
"What about it?" Ted asks, stroking her shoulder with his hand.
She's quiet, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. Swallows. "I know what picture you mean." She falls silent again. "I was tired. In the picture. It was a long day and I really hadn't slept the night before, and… I was tired. It didn't mean anything, Ted."
"Oh," he says, and if she knows Ted Mosby, he's a little disappointed his high school symbolism fell apart.
The wedding, the reception; she doesn't remember it being taken, but she remembers them at the table, the five and then four of them, long after the other guests had left, the caterers packed up, laughing and joking around together. She does remember resting against Barney for some of it, she doesn't remember thinking anything dramatic or romantic or really anything much at all.
She was just tired.
"He liked it because my arm…" Robin demonstrates on the porch, with her own arm. "He said I had good cleavage. That's all. That's the big deep reason. My boobs."
"Okay," Ted says, trying to reassure her, but all she's doing is explaining, explaining herself, justifying herself, taking the only detail of the story she can under her own control.
"It was just a picture," she says.
"I get it," he says. "You looked pretty good, Scherbatsky."
She was tired, but she was happy, back then. "Yeah," she says, leaning into Ted's one-armed embrace. "I really did."