"What, no reaction? Really? Man, you are losing it. I'd have thought you'd be all over that one. I gave you gold on a platter there, mister, and you're not even touching it?" Robin stared hard at him over the grease-stained paper plates that held their repast, two gigantic slices of New York pizza. "We are finding an open store and I am buying you a giant book of Sudoku puzzles, because you are now officially that lame."

Crap. She'd said something he should have reacted to, and he hadn't. She was right, he hadn't been listening, except he had, but to her voice, not her words. It wasn't his fault. Eighteen months without a daily dose of Robin Sherbtasky did things to a man. Bad things. Getting up close and personal with her after all that time was like a junkie riding a high. Direct injection, that's what it was, seeing her in the airport. A shot of the pure stuff, right into his bloodstream, a dislocated joint popping back into place. Barney coughed into his fist. "No. There is no need for that, although I totally kill at Sudoku. You have, and have had, my full attention."

"So what did I just tell you?" He read challenge in her narrowed eyes, the slight upward curve that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Focus. Grab onto a keyword and stick to that. His mind raced to remember the sounds, if not the context. Work. They'd been talking about work. Work was safe. Facts. Anecdotes. Okay. She was telling him a story about work. What was the word she used most frequently? Don. Unless it was part of a bigger word, like mastodon, this was a Don story. Barney's fist clenched around the shreds of his paper napkin. His mind whirled in search of the second most frequently used word. Elevator. Stuck. "You and Don got stuck in an elevator. So many ways I could go with that, I'm trying to pick the best one."

Robin shook her head. "You're forgetting I know all your bluffs. Not buying it. I am totally getting you that Sudoku book." She picked up her slice and folded it in half.

"Bring it. I will solve every one of those puzzles before your fight leaves." He'd forgotten how much he loved watching her eat pizza. Her eyes closed as she took her first bite. The moan of pure indulgence that escaped her lips a second later reminded him of the way she threw herself into another physical activity that was not at all suitable for public consumption.

Barney snatched the red metal napkin dispenser from the table and stashed it on the seat next to him. He had to shut these thoughts down before they consumed him. Robin was leaving. He had to remember that. The second the first flight for Vancouver got cleared for takeoff, he'd be taking her back to the airport and that would be the end of it. They'd been out of each other's lives for a year and a half. Twenty-four hours ago, they'd each thought the other was married. Happily married. He'd sworn off women. She'd sworn off men. Nothing could happen between them. Nothing was going to happen.

But braids…. Braids did not look like that on Sadie. Barney had no idea why he'd started braiding Robin's hair in the first place. Sure, it was soft. Silky, even, and his shampoo smelled different on her. So much better, that he'd positioned himself so he could sneak in a sniff or ten without her noticing. He'd been so tired he couldn't see straight, the TV was on, there was hair between his fingers, and it happened. Maybe it was all the accents; Sadie had inherited her grandmother's Julie Andrews obsession, and Love Actually could sound an awful lot like Mary Poppins to someone who hadn't slept in thirty-six hours. Then Robin questioned his ability and here they were, her with two dark braids lying over the shoulders of a fuzzy white sweater that begged to be touched, wisps loose about her face, and him staring so hard she put down her slice and stared back.

"What?"

Fuck. Blood pounded in his ears. She'd caught him. "You have some sauce right, um," he made a vague gesture encompassing the lower half of her face.

Her hand hovered above the space where the napkin dispenser had been. "Did you take all the napkins? Put them back."

"Not until you admit New York pizza is superior to Chicago pizza."

Robin glowered. "That was never a question. Napkin. Now." She dabbed the back of her hand across her mouth and scowled.

Barney cradled the dispenser against his shoulder. "Admit New York, in general, is better than Chicago, in general."

"Have you ever been to Chicago?"

"I've had layovers, and by layovers, I mean-"

She didn't let him finish. "I know what you mean. Everybody knows what you mean. New York rules. Now hand over the napkins."

"I don't trust you with blunt objects when your nostrils flare like that. I'll get it." He dipped the corner of his napkin into his water bottle, then touched the wet napkin to an imaginary spot next to Robin's mouth. His knuckles brushed against her lower lip. A sharp bolt of arousal shot through him. He applied the napkin next to the smudge of deep pink her lipstick had left on his skin. "Got it."

"Thanks." She paused then and tilted her head. "You're really not here, are you? Are you okay? Is it Quinn?"

Barney dropped the napkin as though it were on fire. "What? No. It's not Quinn. It is not Quinn. It's good to see you, that's all. I didn't think that was going to happen for," he picked at the label on the water bottle, "a really long time. Maybe not until you and Ted had a couple of kids or something." He set down the bottle and picked up his slice.

Robin's gaze dropped for only a second. "Or you and Quinn had kids."

"Ew, no." The words charged out around a mouthful of pizza. "Not while I'm eating. The mere idea of me having any part in creating even a single mini-Quinn is the true nightmare before Christmas." He dropped the half-eaten slice back onto the plate. "Good movie, Nightmare Before Christmas; we should watch that, but no, thank you."

"Wait, are you saying that your kids with Quinn would be worse than my kids with Ted?"

Barney grabbed a fistful of napkins and wiped his hands. "Please. Those kids would be half-Ted and half-Canadian. Pointing out a stacked deck like that would be nothing short of impolite. Speaking of stacked, nice sweater. Is that angora?"

Robin raised her water bottle. "Now, there's the Barney I know and usually tolerate, and yes, it is. No need to worry about the mini-Teds' futures, because they will also be mini-Tracys, and it is downright scary how well those two mix. Their kids are going to be freaking adorable." She took a swig of her water. The sweep of her lashes shielded her eyes from his view.

He'd stepped over a line. He didn't know what line, or where or when, but he had. Still time to turn it around, though. "So, Tracy's cool?"

"She is. We'd probably be friends anyway, even without Ted. I mean, she's not Lily, but it's nice to have a single female friend. Not that Tracy's really single-single. Feels like I'm cheating on Lily sometimes, though. Do not tell her I said that."

"You really think Lily doesn't want you to have friends? You have been away too long. Other than that, being friends with your ex-fiancé's future fiancée is very modern. There could be a made for TV movie in there somewhere. Ted would probably have to be a serial killer, though, if you wanted to get it on cable. Or a single father. Maybe both. Cover all bases, get better ratings that way."

Amusement sparked in Robin's eyes. "Right, and then Tracy and I can raise the kids together once he's brought to justice or falls down an elevator shaft or something. Do we have to kill Ted? I broke up with him."

Barney pretended to consider. "I don't know. Maybe he can reform behind bars and get paroled when he's too old to do any harm to anyone. So, it's really not weird between the two of you?"

"Kind of. Sometimes. Like I said, we're working our way to a new normal. When it gets too weird, we can usually play nice for Tracy's sake. She wants us all to get along so much, it's kind of like a force of nature. Speaking of which," she tilted her head toward the swirling deluge of white outside the restaurant. "We should probably get going if we want to get back to your place before they deliver the trees. I don't see a lot of cabs out there."

Barney slid out of his seat and strode to the front window. He didn't see any cabs. Not a single speck of yellow. "I think we're going to have to walk the whole way. Are you up for that? I could call Ranjit."

Robin took a final drink from her water and screwed the cap back on the bottle. "You want to take a loving grandfather away from his grandchildren on Christmas Eve? Not a chance. In Canada, we call snow like this a light flurry." She retrieved Barney's scarf from its place on the back of his chair and draped it about his neck. "Question is, are you up for this?"

"You have no idea how much."