Chapter 13: Balls
Ted Mosby found her at the vending machines. They had both agreed to give Marshall and Lily some time alone—he thanked every deity in the known universe that Marshall was alright—but when he made a detour to the men's room he lost track of her. He then found Robin Scherbatsky standing immobile in front of the snack machine, staring blankly at her own reflection in the glass.
"I don't know how things work in Canada, but here you need money to get that bag of Cheetos," he commented, hoping to lighten her obviously dark mood.
"Where is he?" was all she said.
Ted didn't pretend not to know who she was referring to, "I don't—"
"Lily said he was with Marshall when it happened, that he rode with him in the ambulance so shouldn't he be here? Shouldn't he care that his friend almost died?"
The architect shrugged. It was all he could do when he didn't possess the answers to her questions, "you know Barney…" he grumbled, unsure what purpose that statement could possibly serve other than to fill the silent gap between them. `You know Barney`? What did that even mean? Not even scoring trumped bro-hood in Barney's book.
"No, I don't." Robin sternly replied, "None of us do."
"Robin, please don't start this again," Ted begged, suddenly feeling drained. He rubbed his forehead where an ache was beginning to form.
"What if…" Robin hesitated for a moment—still keeping her gaze locked on the snack dispenser before her—and bit down on her lower lip. She folded her arms tight over her chest, as if to brace herself from her own words, "What if he did it."
Ted jerked his hand from his face and his head snapped up to glare accusingly at Robin, "don't say that. You know that's not true." He felt like growling at her, and his fingers clenched in the sudden urge to hit something.
"No, I don't Ted," Robin's head finally turned to look him in the eyes, "and I can't shake this feeling that Barney is…is lying to us!"
Ted winced. Was that supposed to be a euphemism?
"It was him in that video, Ted. You saw it, you know it was!"
Ted Mosby shook his head in denial. 'It couldn't be' he wanted to say. That wasn't Barney. Robin didn't know Barney like Ted did, she didn't know what she was talking about. Barney would never…
Ted had never been inside of Barney's apartment. He didn't even know exactly where in the city his friend lived. Nobody knew what Barney Stinson did for a living, only that he made a lot of money and never disclosed a single detail of his work to those closest to him. Ted didn't know why his brain suddenly chose now to think of this, and he wished it didn't. Unfortunately for Ted his brain kept on thinking.
Last Thanksgiving, when he and Robin found Barney volunteering at the homeless shelter, Ted refused to believe `The Barnacle` was capable of doing anything so…good. He remembered calling Barney `Satan` when the latter tried to say he `was doing the Lord's work`. Ted simply couldn't comprehend somebody as evil as Barney Stinson could ever do the world any good. Now Ted was finding it hard to believe he was defending just the opposite scenario. Why, really why, was it so hard to believe that Barney was evil? Not just jackass evil, but real evil. It certainly made sense before the fate of humanity was made potentially at risk. Was Ted just in denial? Was he really so blind to the truth that a girl he'd only known for a few months saw because Barney was his friend; his irresponsible, twisted, perverted, idiotic, maniacal friend?
"I should give him a call…"
Barney silenced the vibrating phone in his pocket. He'd see who it was later. Now he had to focus on psyching himself up for his third meeting with Fake Thomas Jefferson in one day. The blond man inhaled deep. He was going to make this quick and painless, present TJ with the appropriate information and get the hell out of there before his mind decided it would be funny to play some more tricks on him. The entire cab ride back to the office Barney could have swore he saw her standing at every corner or sitting in every other taxi. A few times he thought he heard her voice singing to him over the radio. He thought she even wanted him to hold the elevator for her on the way up. He didn't.
Barney needed rest. He concluded that he was just tired, that's all. He was stressed and tired and all he needed was some sleep to make it all better. He needed to escape this day…and yesterday…and last night. Chills ran down the scientist's back as he remembered his dream. Maybe sleep wasn't the best idea; just rest and some time to think…alone. Barney groaned. Alone. That's something he wasn't going to be at home unless he finished taking care of that other little problem.
He exhaled. He told himself to stop hesitating and pushed through the door of Jefferson's oval office without so much as a knock first.
"It's done," he announced, striding into the office until he was at the foot of TJ's desk. He wondered if his superior noticed the slight quake in his voice.
"Marshall Eriksen is dead then?" Jefferson inquired. He wasn't facing his guest. He wasn't in his desk either. The faux president stood behind his throne with his back to the doctor, his gaze aimlessly trailing the city skyline visible from his window. Dr. Horrible's entrance hadn't made him flinch.
"Noooottt exactly," Barney squirmed, blinking, "the public interfered," he recovered before his boss could interrupt, "I had to play along. Protect the League. Not to worry, though, he's in critical condition and all that stands between him and the afterlife is a few drops of one of my concoctions into his morphine drip," he shrugged like it was no big deal to be discussing his friend's demise, just another ordinary conversation on a day in the life of evil, "I can handle that."
He wouldn't, obviously. He hadn't exactly thought out a way to skate around this one yet but he would…somehow.
Jefferson nodded. He was pleased. That was a good sign. The doctor sighed a little in relief.
"Dr. Horrible," the villain proclaimed, "here in my hands I hold your next assignment." Fake Thomas Jefferson waved a canister—its contents no doubt heinous—over his head. Barney noted that he sounded extremely please. Maybe a little too pleased.
"Whaa—"
"Plans!" Jefferson twirled to face his fellow villain, an evil smirk gracing his lips, "Part of the Ultimate Plan!"
Dr. Horrible had never heard of this `Ultimate Plan`. Why had he not been included in this plan until now? Was it new? He opted not to try and ask any more questions on the subject. He recognized the look in Fake Thomas Jefferson's eyes; after all it had lived in the eyes of so many villains before him. Fake Thomas Jefferson was preparing to monologue.
"I've been conversing with Bad Horse," The ELE's second in command carried on as he began to pace behind his desk, "and the Leader has decided that it is time, Dr. Horrible. It is time to put the Evil League of Evil's Ultimate Plan into action, to reveal our true intentions to this sniveling scum filled society. It is the League's turn to rise up and give the world a taste of our most villainess ideals," he pointed to the doctor, "and inventions. We need you, Doctor. No one among our ranks but you has the brains, the abilities to build this most necessary tool for executing our most crucial plan in determining humanity's fate!"
Dr. Horrible felt the blush creep into his cheeks. They needed him? They needed him? This was…brilliant! Finally, finally they respected him, saw his true worth! A tiny flutter of joy bounced around inside the evil doctor's ribcage. This was it. This is what he had been waiting for the past six years—no, all of his life! New world order, reform, a semi-hostile takeover (though at the same time avoiding all unnecessary violence) that would change the world! He was finally being given his chance to make the earth a better place! This was it!!!
"Be careful with these, Doctor," Barney nodded, hardly able to contain himself, "the League went through a lot of trouble to secure these, and as I have said: these plans are of the utmost importance."
Jefferson handed the canister over to Dr. Horrible, who in turn tore the lid off the cylinder like a child on Christmas to peer inside. He reached a shaky hand down. Barney could feel the fragileness of the parchment with his fingertips, and gingerly pulled the pages from their prison. He unrolled them with equal carefulness, wanting to preserve the aging paper. He could feel the smirk TJ wore as his eyes traveled the first page.
Dr. Horrible's jaw clenched, "Sir…these…these look like the original plans for the…" the young genius's eyes searched the page for a fellow brainiac's signature, "the Hydrogen Bomb…"
"Precisely!" Jefferson joylessly responded.
"You…you want me to build the Hydrogen Bomb?" Barney's tone was filled with skepticism as his superior beamed, "the same bomb Truman dropped on—"
"Yes, yes of course!" TJ happily chuckled and withdrew a map from under his desk, "and we're going to drop it tenfold!" he exclaimed, smoothing out the carefully marked Evil League of Evil Official Strike Map, "here, here, here," London, Cairo, Moscow, "here, here, here," Rio, Toronto, Sydney, Paris, Beijing, Tokyo, Mexico City, Rome, Bangkok, Berlin, Los Angles, Chicago, New York… New York? The list seemed endless, "wipe them out. All of them."
The doctor shuddered, "that…that seems a bit counterproductive…Sir…"
"What?"
"Well, what about the reform?" Barney's fingers trembled, "if we blow everything up," oh God, the image just popped into his brain, he wanted to hurl, "Then there'll be nothing left to—"
"Exactly, Doctor!" Jefferson did that chuckle again, "this was Bad Horse's masterful plan all along, isn't it brilliant?! Humanity can't be saved or changed, reform is useless! There is no hopefor them! So we strike them where it hurts, three dozen major cities around the globe, allow the bombs to kill everything in sight—you can tweak them to be more destructive for your own pleasure if you'd like—and leave the humans to suffer and rot and reflect on the atrocities they committed that lead them to this fate in their final days! It's perfect!"
It changes nothing.
"That's…that's also… suicide…"
"Sacrifices must be made to bring about the end of humanity, Doctor," Jefferson answered matter-of-factly. Barney didn't think that made any sense. Nothing about this plan made any sense. Kill everyone? Kill everything? And this wouldn't be the League destroying all of humanity. This would be him. Dr. Horrible's lab coat would be stained with the blood of six billion people if he built those bombs.
"What do you think, Doctor?" Fake Thomas Jefferson asked. His voice was smothered in pride. For the first time Barney realized just what a kiss ass to Bad Horse the man before him had become, and for a moment briefly pondered what sort of man Fake Thomas Jefferson was like before he started impersonating deceased politicians in the name of Evil.
"This is… awfffssome," Barney's eye twitched.
TJ grinned, "Bad Horse knew you would agree. Now I understand it will take you some months to complete your assignment, Dr. Horrible, so I suggest you get started as soon as possible," was everybody else really that eager to end the world? "Don't bother to check in here every day anymore, Bad Horse and I both know how deep you like to dive into your work, and the sooner you complete this, the better. We wouldn't want to give you any unnecessary distractions. And trust us, Doctor, you will not be distracted," ah the long awaited threat of obedience has finally arrived.
"Awffssome," the doctor replied again, barely able to control his words as he slide the plans back into their dark fortress—where they belonged, "just awfsome," the corner of his mouth turned up in a brief twitch as he delivered TJ one fleeting half smile of sarcasm.
Who's the corporate tool now? Billy sneered from inside his head.
Barney twitched yet again, feeling the sting of Billy's verbal slap against his cheek.
This is not what… I know…
…
Balls.