46 Minutes
After the New Years Eve broadcast is through – and, somehow, remarkably it wasn't a complete disaster – Robin's free to breathe a sigh of relief and start thinking about some New Year's resolutions of her own. Whichever way she looks at it, the bottom line is she made her decision. She chose Kevin. And no matter what's happened since then, or what her heart may be telling her otherwise, she needs to be committed to her choice. Because Barney is a dangerous road, one she's been down once before and knows the pitfalls well. She's certain it would be no different now. That road can only lead to heartache and ruined friendship. So she determines to recommit herself – or, honestly, just for the first time – to this relationship with Kevin, to really trying to make it work.
When she comes home New Year's Day at two in the morning, Kevin's there waiting for her, and it seems like a sign. He tells her the truth about how he hid Sandy so she'd have a chance to go back on the air. It was such a sweet thing to do. And it's things like this, like that speech he gave her months ago in the emergency room, that prove how nice he is, how good he is to her, how good he could be for her. This just solidifies her earlier conclusion that she made the right choice. Staying with Kevin, really being with him this time, is the responsible, mature, rational thing to do. It's the best thing for her.
And so she lets him take her to bed that night, partly because he's been so nice to her and mostly because that's what she should be doing. They've been dating for months now. And that's what couples do; they have sex with each other. It's certainly what she does with a man she's dating, for much less than the time she's been with Kevin – sometimes even with a man she's just been seeing since the start of that night. So there should be no reason why she isn't sleeping with Kevin now. None whatsoever. Unless, of course, it's because she has feelings for another man – which she shouldn't. Or, rather, she doesn't. Can't. Won't.
So she sleeps with Kevin, and afterwards Robin's actually rather proud of herself. She's proved she can do this. She can make positive steps towards moving on from Barney, towards making this relationship with Kevin work for real. But when Kevin falls asleep, holding her smotheringly close to him, she can't help feeling empty and lost and decidedly uncomfortable – with more than just the sleeping arrangement. As it closes in on dawn and she's still wide awake, Robin has a sickening feeling that it's herself – her choices – she's truly uncomfortable with.
Still as the days go on, she continues in the hope that this new intimacy will strengthen their relationship. Maybe this was the thing that was missing, and now that she's allowing him that closeness it will fix all the wrongs and make them right. So, over the next two weeks, she throws herself into the relationship harder than ever before. She spends every moment with Kevin, doing whatever he suggests, no matter how mundane or absurd, because that's what couples do. And she wants him to like her. He has to like her. Wouldn't that just be the ultimate irony if after all this he left her too? He's supposed to be her stable, safe, rational choice so she has to make this work, because if she can't make it in a relationship with someone as normal and steady as Kevin, then there truly is no hope for her.
And it's going along well. So she's not exactly thrilled with things with Kevin. So she's not overflowing with happiness when she's with him. So what? That sort of emotion is meant for books, and movies, and Ted's delusions. That's the sort of thing that gets you hurt. This is real life, and in the real world this thing with Kevin has all the earmarks of a relationship that can work. They get along and he treats her well. He's not going to change his mind in a few months, or start missing being single, or start resenting her for tying him down. She's not going to have to worry about what he's doing each night, or if maybe his attraction to her is starting to waver. She won't have to wonder if he might grow tired of her, if he might fall out of love. If he was ever truly in love to begin with. In short, he can't hurt her. If this whole thing goes North tomorrow, she can walk away without the ache of that soul-deep pain that follows you for the rest of you life. But that's not going to happen anyway because they have all the necessary requirements for a lasting relationship.
Mainly, they're both not a mess.
But just when it's starting to feel like maybe she's finally heading in a positive direction, Robin finds out Lily's leaving – and it's just more of life dumping on her. She's depressed all over again and can't seem to shake it, and for the first time in many long weeks she starts to wonder if maybe keeping everything bottle up inside and pretending normalcy is really the wisest thing to do.
Then Barney promotes himself the new group leader, and Ted and Kevin agree, and she finds herself being dragged along with the whirlwind of crazy, and she doesn't really have time to think anything deeper.
Those that leave you never existed.
That's what Barney has always followed, with all the people who keep hurting him, and leaving him, and letting him down. But it's a lot harder to prescribe to that philosophy when it comes to Robin. Because she did, yet she didn't leave him.
And it's impossible to forget her anyway.
Then there's Kevin. There's always Kevin, who Barney obviously underestimated. But how could he help but be confused when Robin slept with him, she almost came back to him? Still, almost never counts. It's been months now and she's still clinging to Kevin like she has no intention of ever doing anything else. And whatever he once thought about her only giving the relationship half a chance doesn't appear to be true anymore; he's heard some things from Ted.
It's about time he face the fact that this guy's not going anywhere. This is what Robin truly wants, and there's nothing he can do about it but try to move on. He knows it'll be in vain. He's been in love with Robin for years now, and all his efforts to move on from that have always been futile. This one will be no different.
Distraction is his only option. And, as the new self-professed leader of the gang, he falls back on the only distraction he knows.
They're finally back at the Lusty Leopard, his favorite playground, and the world should start to make sense again – or at least pleasantly blur out for an hour or two. Barney's gotten Ted to loosen up a little, curtsy of the alcohol, and he heartily commends himself on another excellent plan accomplished.
That's when he sees Robin buy Kevin a lap dance and almost does a double take because, when the two of them were dating, there would be some serious hell to pay if he so much as set foot in a strip club – even if she was right there with him. He'd get the cold shoulder and sex would be cut off…..for a few hours, until he convinced her otherwise; he could always convince her otherwise. But now, with Kevin, she's not only allowing strip clubs but actually paying for the lap dances?
It's obvious Robin just couldn't trust him. But not Kevin. No, Kevin's a good man. She knows he won't cheat, so she'll allow it. And Barney realizes maybe that's just it. He'll never be good enough for her, never be what she needs. That's why she can try with Kevin but not with him. It's a bitter pill to swallow, but he's been handed a lot of those lately. He's almost used to it at this point.
And so he buys himself five or six or ten lap dances, watches Ted get increasingly drunk, watches Robin talking happily with Kevin, and wishes he could actually enjoy Stripper Lily's nimble fingers working over the inseam of his pants.
At the strip club, Robin is reminded many times over that Kevin was the only sane choice. And clearly she chose correctly. That point is driven home over and over again as the night progresses and she watches Barney receive a bevy of strippers, being touched and rubbed and grinded – and loving every minute of it.
He obviously wasn't all that serious back in November. They fell into bed together, and because of that he wondered "what if?" for a moment, but quite clearly he's already long since forgotten any thoughts of the two of them trying again. The last overture he made to her of any kind was back before Christmas, and that wasn't about having another go at their relationship. He simply wanted to be friends with benefits, which isn't at all promising.
But this is what he does. It's what he did after they broke up the first time. As soon as the moment has past, he forgets all about her and jumps into womanizing with the kind of enthusiastic gusto that tells her that's what he really wanted to be doing all along.
And it's not just the womanizing – okay, it's mostly the womanizing – but his wild, crazy antics lead them into an illegal poker game in an abandoned warehouse with some seriously shady characters and , naturally, they soon find themselves running for their lives. He's still doing these outlandish immature things. And, yes, sometimes it's fun, but sometimes it's scary too.
And it's always risky. Everything with Barney is always a risk. Sometimes, especially lately, she thinks it might just be better to stick with the uncomplicated security of home; where things aren't hopeless and confusing; where nothing is required of you; where you don't have to take chances that might end in heartbreak; where, in fact, you don't have to think or feel at all.
All night, Barney desperately tries to subscribe to his own philosophy of denial. He tries to forget and replace Lily and Marshall with Stripper Lily and Russian Marshall, but it's just not the same. He tries to get Robin out of his heart, but even the entire supply of the Lusty Leopard's finest and all their practiced grinding isn't enough to do it.
And finally, after nearly getting pummeled thanks to drunken Ted's chip city, he has to admit to himself he doesn't want to be the new group leader. He doesn't want to forget and replace. He just wants things back to the way they used to be, with their Lily and Marshall. And Ted. And Robin. And no one else.
But he keeps going anyway – he always just keeps going – until it all comes to a crashing halt in a back alley.
Robin's been trying with Kevin, she really has. She's been doing everything she can think of. But even now, with sex added into the mix – her last holdout – things are still so….awkward with Kevin.
She hates high fiving him. It just feels so wrong. And she doesn't want to try these new experiences with him. He was supposed to be her simple, easy relationship, like slipping into a pair of baggy sweatpants and eating potato chips in front of the TV. Just something mindless and safe and stable, without all this extra effort just to keep him, just so he'll like her.
So, standing in the darkened alley with Kevin, Robin's relieved beyond words when he says they can drop the pretenses, because it was just getting so tiring – not being herself, putting up a front, always waiting to see what he said first.
But as great as that is to hear, she's even more relieved when Kevin simply goes home for the night. It feels oddly freeing once he's gone and she's left alone to go along with Barney and Ted on that forty-six minute ride out to see Lily and Marshall.
At first the trio is quiet. It's been a long night and they've had their fair share of excitement. Right around the time they're all getting on, Barney disappears to who knows where, so Robin finds them all seats, because Ted is still at least half drunk and really not acting very sharp.
The train starts and it's only a matter of minutes before Ted is slumped over across the row of seats, hazily mumbling, "Never gonna find anyone. Always gonna be alone."
She shakes her head because he's a little bit of a mess himself lately, just nowhere near her caliber. "Oh, Teddy Boy," she sighs, covering him up with his coat, and a second later he's fully passed out.
Barney reappears then, carrying two coffees, and takes the seat next to her. He looks over at Ted, sprawled across the seats and now drooling on one, and laughs as if he saw this coming.
He hands Robin one of the cups. They each wordlessly take a sip, and that's enough for a minute or two, just sitting together and drinking coffee, until Barney eventually breaks the silence. "So what happened to Kevin?"
"He'd had enough, wanted to go home." Robin shrugs. "He must not miss Lily and Marshall as much as we do."
"It makes sense. He hasn't known them as long as we have." He pauses to take a long, deliberating drink before adding, "And he doesn't really approve of our little group." He looks over at Robin. "What did he say we were again?"
Robin stares down at her coffee cup. "Codependent."
"That's the one."
Barney looks around at their surroundings and then back to Robin, who takes a glance around the largely deserted train herself, and she knows exactly what he's thinking. Here they are, hurrying out to Long Island in the middle of the night because they just can't bear to be apart from Marshall and Lily any longer…and they've only been gone for a matter of hours.
"Nope. This isn't codependent at all," he says.
Robin laughs and her laughter spurs his. "It's not just that. The whole strip club scene isn't exactly Kevin's thing either."
Barney nods, but can't resist pointing out, "It never used to be yours either. I distinctly remember you've grown quite an aversion to strip clubs." His eyes hold hers for a moment, unrelenting. "Whatever happened to that?"
She remembers the earlier sight of some random blonde stripper-skank grinding all over Barney, and it's easy to find her answer. "Nothing. I don't like them," she says firmly, even a little bitterly. The memory of the look on his face during said grinding drifts across her mind's eye and she shudders. "Some things you just can't unsee."
It occurs to Barney then that, even if she does trust Kevin, it still has to bother her to see him being rubbed on by another woman, in the same way it tore him apart to watch her hold Kevin's hand and sit on his lap earlier that night. And for the first time he thinks he finally gets it why she never wanted him to go to strip clubs when they were together. He was wrong back then. When you're dating someone, it isn't harmless and it can hurt, one of a thousand lessons learned too late.
He doesn't say any of that though. Instead, he asks her, "If you don't like it, then why'd you go?"
"You wanted to go," Robin says, exasperated, not sure why he's even bringing this up.
"Yeah, but you could've left. You didn't have to come."
And it's true, so true that she's a little annoyed with him for making her think about it at all, for making her answer, for not just letting it go.
But he doesn't. "The thing is, Kevin said he wanted to go. And you did too."
"Well, I guess we were just saying what we thought the other wanted to hear."
His eyebrow goes up and he looks at her pointedly. "Going along with something you hate because it's what some guy wants?" He shakes his head. "You're slipping, Scherbatsky."
"I'm not anymore. I'm done with that."
She answered defensively, almost angrily, and he thinks maybe he's gone too far. This is the danger in their friendship now, because he wants to tell her this thing with Kevin doesn't make any sense. He wants to point out all the reasons why it's a mistake. But he can't. She's already made her choice and there's nothing more he can do about it. If he pushes too hard, if he throws himself at her feet, he'll only lose her completely.
But she surprises him because, a moment later, after finishing another sip, she moves the coffee cup from her mouth and he can see that she's now smiling. "Do you know he actually made me take a butchering class?" she says, turning toward him. "I mean, what the hell?"
His eyes widen and he fights back a smile. "Nothing says romance likes a dismembered cow."
"Right?" Robin laughs. "…..But at least there'll be no more of that. I told him I hate it. And the high-fiving too. God, I hate the high-fiving."
Barney gives her a strange look. "Since when do you hate high-fiving?"
"I know, I know, it's kind of our thing. But he does it all wrong."
Barney, wisely, says nothing to that and they fall back into silence for a moment.
"So what about you?" Robin asks. "I take it you finally got to vicariously live the dream of seeing Lily's boobs. I imagine Stripper Lily's gotta be a close facsimile."
"Meh," Barney shrugs. "It was kinda weird."
"Ya think." She shakes her head. "Well, at least there were plenty of others there to comfort you. By the time we left, you had so much boob glitter on your face you looked like a Bond villain. I swear, you must've gotten a dance from every single one of the women there. "
His expression turns lecherous. "Why limit yourself to just one when you can have them all?"
"Ah. Of course." Robin thinks about that statement and knows this is exactly why the two of them can never work. If he ever really did truly want to try. "That's sort of your motto, isn't it?" she says, averting her gaze out the window, watching what she can of the passing scenery in the darkness. But she can feel his eyes on her, steady and scrutinizing.
Barney's silent a moment before finally answering, "It passes the time."
Robin turns back to him then and thinks maybe she sees something in his eyes, but before she can reply Ted wakes up with a start.
After he collects himself, he sleepily asks where they got their coffee, and they spend the rest of the ride reliving his near-fatal poker win – which he now realizes the stupidity of, but it still makes him rather proud.
The next morning, when they're all in Marshall and Lily's kitchen, settled into the booth together – Barney stealing bacon off her plate and Robin 'retaliating' by swiping berries off of his, but really they both know they each prefer the tradeoff – Robin finally feels like things are right again.
She tells herself it's all because of the return of Real Marshall and Real Lily, and has nothing at all to do with Barney, sitting warm and smiling close beside her.
AN: I completely forgot that, back when 7.09 "Disaster Averted" aired, I wrote two separate sections for it, the one posted under this story and another for the flashback portion that took place in the summertime. I was going to post it too but never did, until I just now found the file on my computer. It's posted now as an independent story, called "Hurricane Irene", but in many ways it's actually connected to this one.