That Saturday, Barney winds up on his own since Robin's at Metro News going over details of her new job, James is hanging out with Tom, and the gang all claim to be catching up on work – Ted polishing up some building, Marshall busy with a case, and Lily grading whatever kind of homework kindergarteners do. Yet Barney takes his solitude in stride, deciding to use the time to line himself up a little somethin-somethin.

He's at MacLaren's hoping to do just that when Robin unexpectedly slides into the booth across from him.

"I thought I might find you here," she says brightly, all smiles.

"Hey, hi." Barney manages to convey a perfect smoothness when in reality her sudden appearance has caught him off guard.

Magician that he is, he succeeds in keeping several plates spinning at once in his everyday life, never allowing his worlds to collide. He makes sure Robin never encounters the gang, who will no doubt pilfer her and make way too much out of their friendship. He keeps his mom convinced that he really does have that fake wife and son. And absolutely no one in his life knows he works for the FBI other than James. For the most part it's not even that difficult building up walls and selling lies. It feels isolated at times, but better isolated than brokenhearted; that's been his motto since Shannon.

But when things fall out of his control and immediate maneuvering, one of those plates threatens to come crashing to the ground, shattering into a million pieces. Robin showing up here and now, with the gang just upstairs and the threat looming overhead of them potentially coming down at any time for a late afternoon beer or lunch, is just such an instance. The odds are still slim for a run-in, but he'll have to be on the lookout.

"I thought you were at the station getting ready for Monday," he mentions nonchalantly, never giving the slightest hint of any inner tension.

"We finished early," she tells him, and it's plain to see she's majorly psyched about whatever went down. "You know me, Barney. Usually I'm not one to get all starry eyed about, well, anything. But I have a really good feeling about this. For the first time, I'll be sitting behind an anchor desk delivering real news – in New York City!"

She's practically quivering with excitement and it makes him smile. "That's great, Robin."

"I know!" she beams. "And, yes, I'm fully aware I'm being a complete dork right now, but I've felt like I needed to pinch myself all afternoon."

"Hey, I've got some news of my own," Barney announces, eying the bar's entrance. "Real quick; last night was a-mazing."

He said it in such a sly, self-satisfied tone Robin assumes there can only be one meaning and she asks in amazement, "How'd you manage to find a hookup after we left? It was, like, three in the morning and you hadn't talked to anyone else all night."

"I was going to say I had an epiphany – but what is it with you and imagining my sex life? It's becoming a pattern." He captures her gaze wickedly. "I'm sensing some intense vicarious yearning for me."

"Either that or it's just been too long since I got laid. Not all of us have been peppering our evenings with one-night stands in between hanging out."

"Not only evenings, afternoons too. That's what secretaries are for," he says with a wink, and her eyebrows scrunch up in distaste.

"Just tell me your epiphany. We both know you're dying to."

"Okay, check it: I realized what the world of dating needs. Ready?"

"I'm waiting on pins and needles."

"A lemon law."

"A lemon law? Like for cars?"

"Exactly." He taps his nose to say she's got it right on. "From the moment the date begins, you have five minutes to decide whether you're going to commit to an entire evening. And if you don't, it's no hard feelings just, 'Good night. Thanks for playing. See you never.'" He looks at her expectantly but fails to get an immediate response. "Huh? Huh?" he goads.

"Barney, that is a terrible idea."

As always, he simply ignores negative feedback. "The Lemon Law. It's going to be a thing." Robin watches his expression perk up. "Possibly starting right now."

She turns to see where he's looking and Barney explains, "That girl's here for me. Found her on Tinder last week. Everything in her bio screamed DTF, and after one look at the dress she was wearing I was ready to swipe right all over her!"

"Ew."

"However it turns out, something revolutionary is about to go down. And with any luck so will she!" Robin slowly shakes her head and gets up to leave, but he grabs her wrist. "Hey, we're still on for tonight, right?" Her expression remains unimpressed so he sweetens the deal. "Maybe I can line us both up some action. You know I'm an excellent wingman."

A smile materializes against her will. "I'll see you back here at nine."

He grins and struts across the room to the blonde waiting at another booth. "Hi, Katie. Barney."

"Hi! It's good to finally meet you," she replies in the most nasal, grating Long Island accent that it gives even Fran Drescher a run for her money.

Barney shoots Robin a deadpan look, answering loud enough for her to hear. "Hmm, yeah. Katie, you are about to be a part of history."

Laughing, Robin heads up the stairs to the sound of a loud slap followed by Barney shouting, "Tell your friends! It's going to be a thing!"

Later that night, Robin opens the door to MacLaren's just in time to witness Barney at a table passing some girl what looks like a business card before the woman takes off in a huff.

Smirking, Robin takes a seat at the bar. She feels like something different tonight and decides to honor the city's Fall obsession by ordering a red apple martini. Within thirty seconds, Barney comes over to join her just like she knew he would. "What was that?" she asks, quirking her head back to the table he just vacated.

"Blind date. Didn't work out. Lemon Lawed," he boasts. "I had a card printed." Reaching into his jacket pocket, he produces another one, handing it to her. "I put it up on my blog too, to help spread the word."

Robin peers down at the card to see what his evil genius mind came up with.

The front of the business-sized card features clip art of a little smiling cartoon lemon with the words I'm sorry, but this date is over in accordance with The Lemon Law. Below, it gives the address of Barney's blog, presumably for further research into what just happened to you.

"Flip it over," he grins.

She does, and the whole back of the card is filled with fine print and imitation legal jargon like you'd see on a legitimate contract. Her eyes quickly skim through, catching on This card hereby absolves the giver from any hard feelings or questions, and from there the statements only grow increasingly absurd until she's unwittingly reading it aloud. "Date may be terminated for any reason including, but not limited to: tawdry attire, breath, homeliness, misplaced slash excessive body hair." She scowls up at him. "You are such a jerk."

"No, I'm a visionary."

Looking back at the card, Robin continues to read. "Giver may waive The Lemon Law should Lemon Lawyee immediately consent to a no-strings attached 'stand', duration of which shall be no longer than one night." She shoots him a withering glare.

"Lemon Law! It's going to be a thing!"

Robin purses her lips. "For the record, your little Lemon Law is a symbol of everything that's wrong with our no-attention-span society."

Barney looks at her unfazed. "No. Wrong. Lemon Law's awesome."

"It takes longer than five minutes to really get to know someone." She sighs at him. "You keep giving up on people so quickly, you could miss out on something great."

"Whoa," he abruptly stops her, holding up his hand to call foul. "That sounds like pro-relationship talk if I've ever heard it. Who are you, and what have you done with my friend Robin?"

Smiling, she rolls her eyes. "I never said I don't believe in relationships."

"Uh, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what you said. Like, every time we've ever talked."

"It just depends on how you define 'relationship'."

"Okay, Clinton."

"No, I'm serious," Robin laughs. "A relationship, as in dating the same person, is fine – I'd say even preferred – as long as you keep it casual and fun."

"What?" Barney questions, unable to believe what he's hearing.

She shrugs. "It's just easier. That way you don't have to go out to bars looking for suitable guys anytime you feel like sex; you have a ready and waiting supply. And it's easier to train a guy that way, when you're only dealing with one of them repeatedly." She sagely informs him, "'Practice makes perfect' is a saying for a reason."

She knows that he knows she means sexually. Of course, she doesn't admit that it's also nice to have the same guy to talk to, to know each other on a deeper level and have the companionship that comes with dating the same person for weeks.

Barney considers her point and eventually allows, "You could be on to something. If chicks weren't so clingy."

"Oh, guys can be too. That's why there's a natural cutoff point."

"Hmm, disposable relationships…."

"It's the only kind I ever have," Robin declares, taking a sip of her martini.

"I'll give you that your reasoning isn't entirely flawed. But then what's the point of finding someone quote unquote 'special', as you say?"

"Because how satisfying for you is it really nailing some mindless bimbo versus nailing a woman you've got a little bit in common with, who can give you a run for your money?"

She certainly has a point when it comes to her. No amount of mindless bimbos could equal the thrill it would be to final nail Robin. But he's not about to admit that to her. "Nope. Chemistry wins every time," Barney maintains, now the one to shrug offhandedly. "If the girl is hot, I want to do her. End of story. I don't care how dumb she is or if we have zero in common. Chemistry. That's the only thing that matters when I'm going to be in and out – pun very much intended, what up! – and never see her again."

"Well, that's not how I operate."

"Please," he dismisses. "Don't give me that. You love sex. It's the most important thing for you too. You can't deny it."

"I didn't try to."

"So that means their looks, their body, that initial spark of attraction is the number one thing that matters."

Robin shakes her head. "No. Sometimes you might not be attracted to someone at first. They might not be your type at all, and you think that's all there is to it. But the more you get to know them, the more attractive you find them once you discover who they really are." He audibly scoffs at that and she pats his arm like he just isn't sophisticated and complex enough to get it. "You see, Barney," she divulges, her tone mischievously patronizing, "women are different than men. We don't want to sleep with a guy only based on how good he looks on a bar stool."

"I never said looks were the only thing. I said you can't deny they are an important thing," Barney upholds. "No one wants to have sex with a troll. Which Cindy wasn't. She was a solid 7. And I was talking to her for a good five minutes before you got here. The Lemon Law isn't a snap, looks-only decision. But I knew the vibe wasn't there."

"You're only after sex, Barney," she snickers. "For sex with a 7, the vibe is always there."

"She loves The Bachelor, Robin. The Bachelor!" he reveals in horror. "She applied for the show and everything! I can't have sex with a woman who devotedly follows The Bachelor. She even thinks the couples are real!"

Robin grins. "I still say you have to give someone time to let these things develop."

"And I say you know right away if the potential's there or not…." His words trail off in distraction and she catches his gaze shift to the blonde at the end of the bar with the tight sweater who keeps staring at him. "Speaking of, I've got a little something on the backburner I've gotta keep warm. Be right back!"

He takes off like a flash, leaving Robin sitting there alone with her martini.

And that's the thing about Barney. She'd been lost in their repartee, the charge of it, the sparks flying. It's their own private game of foreplay – and they've been playing it for six weeks straight. Hell, it's more than foreplay. The back and forth, give and take, parry and thrust working into an increasing frenzy. It's oral sex is what it is – the less fun kind. Verbal sex, Robin finally decides, and they're fantastic at it. It's so good between them that she's getting closer and closer to breaking and allowing it to become actual sex…..and then he does something like this and she remembers why she can't ever let that happen.

Barney returns to her side, looking complacently lecherous. "She thinks I'm the President of Russia visiting the U.S. incognito. Just think of all the depraved things I'm gonna be able to talk her into by convincing her it's a Russian tradition!"

Robin gulps her martini.

After a few lewd little cackles, he's prepared to focus again. "Okay, back to our debate."

"There is no debate. It's just that I'm a decent person and you're a pig."

"Alright." Barney narrows his eyes at her, forming an idea. "Just for that, things are about to get interesting. Say you're on a blind date. Sitting across from the table is….." He looks around the bar, singling out the most pathetic specimen and hitting on a goldmine with the dude at the opposite end of the bar. "That guy!" he announces triumphantly.

Robin looks over to find a mousy-looking man with messy dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses, wearing a worn grey hoodie and sucking on half a green olive in a particularly disgusting manner while nursing some sort of pink, girly beverage. And he's clearly all by himself too, without even a nerdy buddy who can stomach his company, as he has the newspaper out and open in front of him. Barney certainly knows how to pick them.

"You really think it'll take more than five minutes to realize there will be no date number two?" Barney tilts his head cockily to better see the look on her face as she eats crow.

Ordinarily, she'd never give this guy the time of day and they both know it. But there's no way she's letting Barney emerge victorious. Swallowing down her repulsion, Robin insists, "Yes. I do."

He huffs in frustration, rolling his eyes at her stubborn refusal to admit that he wins when she's so obviously done in.

"For all I know, that guy's my soul mate."

That sends Barney into an evil grin – because her wildly overcompensating assertion just gave him the most legendary of ideas to make her admit she's wrong and that he, naturally, is right. "Oh-hoo, bad move, Scherbatsky."

She well anticipates his next strike and her eyes widen in apprehension as she sits frozen on her stool, still looking where Barney just was but already isn't.

"Hi," Barney says, tapping the guy's hand. "Haave you met Robin?"

"Hi," the man drawls to her, leaning over the bar with acute interest.

Fake reporter smile firmly in place, she gives a "Hi" back.

"My friend here thinks you just may be her soul mate. When destiny strikes this way, I say you two should at least give this thing a chance, say, over dinner?" And Barney gives Robin a smartass wink.

Because of travel time, Barney extended the allotted five minutes to a half an hour deadline to admit she's wrong and lemon law. Then he'll come rescue her from her own Sheldon Cooper and get her out of the worst night of her life. But Robin's not giving an inch. She's endured plenty of bad dates before. How much worse could this guy really be?

As it turns out: way worse.

Eric, her would-be soulmate, has his heart set on taking her to his favorite restaurant, and since it's only a short cab ride away she agrees. From the outside it looks nondescript, but she never knew there was even a building on this corner. "What's the name of this place?" she asks as they get out of the cab.

Eric grins from ear to ear. "The Milky War Extragalactic New Moon Orbit, but everyone just calls it by its acronym: MENO."

And already, ten minutes into the date, Robin's ready to kill Barney.

MENO, she soon discovers, is an immersive outer space themed restaurant. The hallway from the lobby looks like they're exiting a space craft, and once in the main dining area the entire restaurant is windowless. Three dimensional moon craters protrude from the walls, along with what she assumes is meant to be some sort of Martian vegetation. To top it off, at least a quarter of the restaurant's patrons are dressed as various sci-fi characters.

A purple haired seating attendant leads them to a table, takes their drink orders, and hands them each a menu. Only a minute later, Robin is startled to find Eric's rum and coke and her second attempt at enjoying a red apple martini – since between Barney ditching her for the blonde and then sticking her with this guy she barely registered the taste of her first drink – delivered to them by a waiter in a full-on alien costume.

At least the service is quick; she'll give them that. And while Eric is a total weirdo, he seems nice. The way he keeps going on about how he can't believe he's sitting here on a date with such a beautiful woman who's way out of his league is flattering.

Robin opens her menu and takes a look, determined to make the best of an awkward situation. "Well, at least it's good to know the future has ribs," she jokes, laughing to herself.

Eric doesn't so much as crack a smile. "In the future, food will most likely be served in gel cap form," he answers matter-of-factly. "Plus, cows will probably have died out by then….Or be our leaders."

It might be funny as a joke, were it not for the fact that he's completely serious. Her stomach sinks; Barney was so right. Every impulse is screaming to hightail it out of here despite the licking her pride will take. But she tells herself, no; she's going to stick it out the entire evening just to spite him.

Her phone rings a second later and Robin answers without even looking, more than half hoping for some kind of work emergency. "Hello."

She hears mocking laughter on the other end of the line.

"Time's running out, Scherbatsky. Last chance for the Lemon Law, and then you're on your own."

Now she's definitely not going to give him the satisfaction. "Leave me alone," she answers in a tense whisper. "We're only just getting to know each other."

Robin glances up to see Eric chewing on his straw and Barney can practically hear her shudder.

"Say I'm right and this could all be over," he taunts. "This could be your call from the hospital."

"Sorry," she retorts, hanging up on him. No matter what she has to stomach, there is no way she's letting him win.

An hour later, Barney gets a text from her that's just a series of swear words. Smiling, he instantly calls her. "Hey, Scherbatsky. How'd it go? You two set a wedding date yet? Where are you?"

"As it happens, I'm only ten minutes from your apartment."

"Great! Come over and tell me how it was."

"Only if you make me some suitable dinner."

"That bad, huh?"

"The food at MENO might as well have been in gel cap form!" she mutters sarcastically.

"Not sure what that means, but I can scrounge up something to eat. I warn you though, I cook naked," he impishly adjoins.

"Never mind."

"No! No!" Barney laughs. It's the first time she's agreed to come up to his apartment and he's not about to blow it. "I'll make an exception for you. I'm already making an exception letting you into The Fortress without a sex visa."

"I'm sorry, a what?"

"I'll tell you when you get here."

"Your rule is no woman comes upstairs unless she lets you bang her?" Robin says the moment he opens his door. "No wonder the doorman gave me that look when I asked for your apartment number. He must think I'm really desperate."

"No, he thinks you're about to have the time of your life."

She snorts. "So this is the great Fortress, live and in person."

"One and the same." Barney puffs up proudly as he ushers her inside. "You are now in the heart of bachelor country. And as a woman, you're an illegal immigrant here." Robin walks further into his living room, her eyes busy absorbing all the details, and he continues to talk as he crosses over to the bar. "Up until now, the only exception has been for those who apply for a sex visa – and even that only lasts twelve hours...well, fourteen if you qualify for multiple entry, heh!"

Her lips turn upwards ever so slightly as she sinks down onto his leather couch. "Is – is that a TV?" She points straight ahead to what looks suspiciously like a screen, but she can't see how it possibly could be since it takes up the entire wall above the fireplace all the way up to the ceiling.

"Yep. A three hundred inch flat screen. They only sell them in Japan, but I know a guy," he brags. "They ship it over in a tugboat like freakin' King Kong!"

She laughs easily, enjoying his company already. But her soft giggles turn into a wince when he switches it on. "It hurts my eyes."

"Yeah, that doesn't go away." She squints over at him and he turns the TV back off. "No, I'm kidding; you do eventually get used to it. Here." Barney walks out from behind the bar and hands her a glass. "Your first Penicillin Cocktail, made with thirty year Glen McKenna to boot. I figured you could use one after the night you've had."

"Tell me about it." Robin snatches it from him and takes a greedy sip. "Oh, this is amazing."

"Told you. Now how'd your date go?"

Her eyes fall closed in dismay just remembering it, and she gulps down some more of her cocktail.

"I love it!" he glories. "You come up to my apartment after midnight voluntarily, and you get your own self drunk. Maybe you will be applying for that sex visa after all…."

"Tonight, that wouldn't even be the creepiest thing I've been through," she teases to his glower. "How do you think it went, Barney? It was as awful as you knew it'd be. He took me to some space restaurant where the waiters dress in green robes and amber amulets – and, oh yes, they all have alien masks with buggy black eyes! The food was terrible, the conversation worse. He thought I was a prostitute," she divulges, and Barney gets a good snicker out of that. "But that wasn't even the worse part. Then he told me he didn't have a lot of money, and asked what he could get for twenty bucks. It was terrible."

"See, I was right. Say it…." he coaxes.

"Fine." She heaves a heavy breath, rolling her eyes. "Yes, Barney, you were right."

"Ha-ha! I was right," he hoots as he sits down beside her with his drink.

For the first time, Robin notices Barney has taken off his jacket since earlier. His sleeves are rolled up too, and the first button or so of his shirt is open, allowing her a glimpse of the chiseled tanned body beneath. She feels a little shiver that she blames on the alcohol….But she knows that's a lie when she finds herself wondering what the inside of his bedroom looks like, even contemplating asking him for the tour.

She blows her hair out of her face, disappointed in herself. "I guess the only thing that does matter is how hot a person is and how much you instantly want to jump their bones."

Robin looks so troubled at the notion that it makes Barney's victory feel less awesome, and for some reason he finds himself blurting out a truth she never would have found out otherwise. "Actually, maybe not."

She looks over at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Remember the blonde at the end of the bar who kept making eyes at me? The one I convinced I was Vladimir Putin?"

"Yes, and for some weird reason she found that attractive" is Robin's catty answer.

"Nothing weird about it. If a guy can persuade a whole country into doing his bidding, she figures he's got what it takes to get her off."

"How does one equal the other? If she had any common sense, she should be afraid of getting murdered the second she displeased a guy like that."

"Oh, she was very willing to please, believe me. But it's simple: for a chick, power is the greatest aphrodisiac of them all. That, and being kind to small animals. Makes them think you'd be a good father," he explains. "But that type of woman is best avoided if you can. She's the last, last resort. Because pretending you want to raise a happy little family all night just for twenty minutes worth of mediocre, conventional sex is a real drag."

"So what happened with this girl?" she gets him back on track.

"Well, I had just gotten the busty little Russophile – "

"The what?"

"Someone who loves all things Russian."

"Oh."

"To go home with me. We were just to the point where clothes were starting to come off – " He hesitates.

"But?" Robin helps him out.

"But…" Barney sighs, and then the rest all comes spilling out. "But she was so dumb! I mean, Forest Gump level. It ended up being a huge turnoff and I couldn't go through with it. The B-man actually couldn't go through with it! Can you believe that?! These two hands had more sense than she did; believe it or not, I wanted them more than her! I had her right there, topless against the kitchen counter," he relays, his voice distressed at his own perceived shortcoming. "I could've been Lil' Barney deep inside of her. And I couldn't. go. through. with. it!"

He raises his hands in dismay. "I can't explain it. It was just this tragic downer, like how you feel when you're boning a sex doll. It's got all the right curves, but vacant eyes and completely empty upstairs. Plus, she would not shut up! She kept asking me if I could get her into The Louvre – she thinks it's in Moscow. Who knew stupidity could cause a Stinson derection?" He shakes his head in wonder. "I'll have to add it to the list alongside fatties, pregos, over 30s, and women wearing purity rings," he says with a shudder.

"You know I'm twenty-nine, right? That means by July next year you'll no longer want to sleep with this? Never mind." Robin shakes herself out of it. "It doesn't matter. The point is tonight showed that getting to know each other does count," she grins. "Personalities that click are key even for just a one-night stand. You proved that yourself."

"I suppose you're right," Barney accepts it begrudgingly. "But only to an extent. The gut attraction has to be there too. You proved that."

"Yeah," she realizes. "I guess neither one of us was wrong. A little of both is the best way." The recipe for a perfect relationship is two people who've gotten to know each other, who have that intellectual and emotional connection, but who also have a palpable spark; that's equally important. It brings Robin to a frightening conclusion, one she reaches just as he voices it aloud.

"We have both…." His expression is warmly seductive and his eyes fall to her mouth as he invades her space. All at once she has the overwhelming urge to take ahold of his shirt and pull him the rest of the way into a kiss.

But she doesn't. Instead, she says in a low, husky whisper, "Over thirty, my ass. You're still gonna want this."

"Your ass? Absolutely."

Robin just laughs, raising her glass. "Cheers to that."

"Cheers," Barney agrees, bringing their glasses together. Once they each take a drink, he adds, "And to The Lemon Law!" raising his glass again. But she steadfastly refuses to cheers him to that.

"Fine," he shrugs. "Self-clink!" And he snatches her glass away from her, doing just that.

AN: Barney's Lemon Law cards and the text within are real, canon things from the show that can be found on Barney's Blog, which is still available a few places online if you're curious. In fact, for future note, anytime I reference something on Barney's Blog or in The Bro Code or Playbook I'm most likely quoting something directly from the actual source. I believe in that level of authenticity!