Two Steps Forward, Two Steps Back

January 13th

Robin answers her phone with, "Hey, what are you doing up? It's got to be like five in the morning there. Did you just crawl out of some rando's bed and now you're calling to brag about the success of your Ultimate Club Outfit?"

"Nah, that's still under development. This is something more personal."

She gives an exaggerated sigh. "For the last time, I will not sext you, Barney. Yes, that does count as cheating."

"I'm still gonna get you on board with that," Barney claims, unable to resist a little bit of banter back at her teasing tone. "But no, this really is personal."

"Huh. You're being alarmingly vague about this. Sounds serious."

"It is."

He's all gravity now, and she braces herself. "Okay. What is it?"

"Are you sitting down?"

"I'm at work. Why? What's going on? Now you're actually starting to scare me."

He's the one who should be scared, Barney knows. Robin's not going to respond well to this, but he knew that when he was weighing over whether or not he should say anything. "Would you happen to know if your dad ever did some wet work for the CIA in the early 80s?"

"Yes…." she answers cautiously, her guard instinctively raised at the mention of her father. She has no idea where Barney's going with this and she's leery of finding out.

"You're sure? He told you that?"

"I remember the bedtime stories, yes. And, no, that is not a joke," Robin dryly attests. "Learning at the age of five that 'wet work' is a euphemism for murder is just one part of the well-rounded education my father gave me."

"Actually, when it's government sponsored they call it an assassination," Barney informs her. "Or if they really want to make it pretty it's a military operation with some fancy sounding code name."

"Anyway, yeah, he did," she spurs him on, impatient to hear what he's getting at.

"Robin Charles Scherbatsky Sr. of Vancouver?"

"Yes, that's him. Why? Is he in trouble with the U.S. government? Is he….wanted or something?" It sounds a bit Wild West to her ears once she's heard it aloud, but at the moment she can't think how else to say it.

"Worse," Barney reveals.

Robin holds her breath, wondering what could be worse. Is he already in prison? Has he been assassinated himself? Though she thought he got out of that decades ago.

After what feels like forever, Barney finally divulges, "He's in New York. Manhattan to be exact. Apparently he moved there a couple years ago. He lives on the Upper East Side, not too far from my apartment."

Reeling, Robin isn't sure which option would have been worse: wanted, dead, or this. "So my dad's been living in New York City for two years….and he never looked me up – or even bothered to tell me he was here when he knew I was moving to the city? He could have offered me a welcome from family, but instead he choice to tell me through my sister that I'd never make it."

"I'm sorry, Robin," Barney offers quietly. "I just thought you might want to know. Or shouldn't I have said anything?"

"No. I mean, yes. I would – I do – want to know. It's not your fault, but….."

"Yeah. I know." She doesn't have to say it; they both know he's well aware of what getting let down by a crappy father is like. That's why this next part is going to leave her blindsided. "But look – and I realize this is going to sound crazy coming from me of all people – I have your dad's address, his phone number…and I think maybe you should go talk to him."

The silence that follows is deafening, almost tangible, because he senses what it is: the calm before the rising storm.

"Barney….what – ? Why would you say that? What is this about? What are you trying to do with this?"

"I swear I didn't find him intentionally, Robin. I was looking into something else and – " He grapples with whether to say anything further, knowing he shouldn't have even said this much. "I can't go into detail, but the case I'm working now has some ties to the Seattle area. I was going through some of those case files when his name came up. Scherbatsky isn't exactly a common name, Robin Scherbatsky even less so. It was too much to be a coincidence. Even so, I didn't want to say anything unless I was sure, so I dug a little further. That's how I found his residence, marital history, the fact that he has two daughters."

"So I'm in there too?" Robin interrupts, well on her way to outraged.

"It doesn't mention names, but it didn't take much to make that leap."

He can only hear her exasperated huffs of breath, and then: "Okay. So you found him. So what? It doesn't mean anything to me. It shouldn't to you. After everything I told you, what the hell would make you think it's a good idea for me to talk to him again?"

Barney expected this kind of reaction from her; it's exactly how he'd react if the shoe was on the other foot. That's why he can fully understand her reasoning. But understanding it doesn't mean it's in her best interest. "Telling you you're a disappointment and a failure undoubtedly sucks. There's no excuse for that. But – "

"No 'but', Barney. There isn't one that's close to good enough. And whatever happened to 'dads aren't the be all and end all'?" she quotes him on another, far different day – one when he fully supported her on the Dads Can Go F Themselves Express.

"They're not, it's just…whatever happened in your parents' marriage, it doesn't mean he didn't love you. He fought for custody of you. He didn't have to. You said he didn't even try to get your sister. That tells me you must have meant something to him."

Sure she did. She was a prize to be owned. Clay to be shaped into the mold that he wanted – made even worse by the fact that his preferred mold was male.

The things she went through – both physical and emotional – the abuse, the mistreatment…..and yet she still would have done anything to please him. She tried her hardest to fit the shape of what he wanted just so he'd be proud, so he'd feel like she was worth something and she in turn could feel it too.

Robin subscribes to Barney's same philosophy of being awesome instead, but when it comes to her dad she usually just gets angry instead – then depressed and hurt all over again. Which is why she could kill Barney for bringing her dad up in the first place!

Although, she reminds herself, Barney's still in the dark about the worst of it. Remembering that has a somewhat calming effect. "Look, Barney, I know you mean well, but there's a lot more you don't know. And if you did, you wouldn't be suggesting I ever see that man again."

"Fair enough. But I do know how much daddy issues can…." Fester. Stunt your life. Leave you with crippling abandonment issues. His mind readily fills in several applicable options. "How'd you put it? They really suck?"

"Yeeah." She stretches out the word, hoping that speaks for itself, because she can't bring herself to vocalize just exactly how much they do.

"Well, I know that firsthand. And clearly it still bothers you too. That's the only reason I suggested talking to him again."

"For closure," Robin infers, understanding a little better now. He's trying to help her, even though it is still wildly impracticable advice.

"Or, you know, to have a dad again. Either way. But I don't mean to pressure you," Barney softly submits. "It's just something to think about."

"….Maybe," Robin ultimately acknowledges. "Someday. He knows where to find me." That's all the more she says before going quiet

The idea of her being upset with him doesn't sit well with Barney. In fact, it grates on him in a way he finds impossible to ignore until he finally has to ask, "Are we good? You're not…mad or anything?"

She wasn't anyway, but the adorable uncertainty in Barney's voice is too cute for her to have stayed that way long. "No, I'm not mad. I just don't like to talk about, or think about, or even remember my dad."

"Really? I think about my dad all the time."

Robin smiles. "Well, yeah. It's kind of hard not to with his show on every day." She expects him to run with that, expects the two of them to ease pleasantly back into the silliness she finds much more comfortable, but he remains silent. It's perplexing until she realizes her faux pas. "Oh, I know it's not the same with a new host, but The Price Is Right will always be synonymous with Bob Barker, am I right?"

"Actually – "

"What, you're gonna defend it?" she laughs. "You already told me you think the Drew Carey version is crap."

"It is. Doesn't even come close to comparing to Bob's."

"Don't you mean Dad's?" Robin teases.

Barney clears his throat, sounding strangely hesitant. "That's, uh, that's what the 'actually' was about. My mom said something the last time I Skyped with her that kind of let it slip that maybe – I mean it's possible that Bob Barker….he's not my dad."

So that's what has fathers so suddenly on his mind. From what he'd told her it was easy for Robin to deduce that, deep down, Barney knew all along Bob Barker isn't his dad – or at least he'd figured it out once he grew past the years of childhood – but he's never before suggested as much aloud, so she appreciates the momentousness of this and proceeds gently. "What did your mom say exactly?"

"She said, 'Barney, Bob Barker's not your dad'."

"Hm. Okay. Pretty clear then." The line goes tensely quiet, and when she hears what sounds like a scotch tumbler in the background at this time of the morning Robin knows it's time to level up. "Hang on. We need to do this on Skype. I need to see you."

Once they make the necessary switch, Barney – suited up but looking slightly disheveled, as if still in the clothes from the night before, and with scotch glass in hand; her ears didn't fail her – appears on her laptop. The look on his face is heartwrenching.

It brings to mind what he said to her before about why he'd so willingly believed Bob Barker was his father in the first place, why this must be killing him now. It's hard to say which is a worse: facing that your mother's been lying to you and your childhood notions were never real, facing that you have no clue who your actual father is and that you very well may never know his identity, or facing that she herself may not know.

In the face of all that, Robin's left torn over how to respond. Does she answer honestly, pulling him along into the truth and forcing him to deal with this head-on? Or does she make up an explanation for what his mom said, furthering the fantasy?

Which should she do? Which would he want her to do?

In the end, she decides he must be reaching out to her for a reason. If he wanted to continue in denial he wouldn't be bringing this up at all. He would have already dismissed his mother's comment as drunken nonsense or just misspoken words.

No, he's looking for honesty from her. He wants them to be real – and, for him, she can do that.

"I know that must have been difficult to hear…."

She watches him down more scotch before she's met with a morose, "Yeah."

And he's just too sad, too upset for her to take. There's something particularly disturbing about seeing Barney this way, stripped of his usual rascally charm. Just bare, broken and bleeding. It pricks at her heart in a way she can't define. She just knows she has to make it better for him – right now, right away, as soon as possible. "But you wouldn't want Bob Barker to be your dad anyway. So he's famous? That just means he would have had the means to take care of you but chose not to. That's a bastard move if you ask me."

Barney kind of smiles at that. He knows full-well what she's doing, that she's actively trying to cheer him up but, from her, it's working anyway. "I never thought about it that way."

"Well, you should. What's more, I didn't want to offend you so I never said anything before, but I've always thought he doesn't wear a suit well either."

Barney's shoulders shake in noiseless laughter. "No, you didn't. Bob's dapper as hell."

"He really is," Robin relents with a grin. "But still. You've got to always pick your kid, right? Even if he was leaving for a TV show, you wouldn't want a guy like that for a dad."

"I guess not," he allows. "...Then again, we don't know that my actual dad is any better. He may have left us for something even less."

Mention of his 'actual dad' – without the benefit of a TV, fame, and fortune calling him away – leads Robin to the real reason this is killing Barney. He'd said it before himself: It was nice having that presence in my life, to know he was there…that one day he might come back.

Bob Barker gave him hope, hope that someday he could still have that father/son dynamic he so deeply craves.

Now he has nothing.

"Maybe you should ask your mom about your real dad," Robin suggests. "At least who he is….You know, for closure. Or who knows? Maybe even to have a dad again." It's what he suggested to her, meaning it's what he truly wants for himself.

"I don't know. I…."

"You can tell me, Barney," she assures him warmly.

"I don't think I'm ready for that….Maybe someday."

January 17th

"Hey," Barney says, his mouth stretching into an easy smile the instant he sees her.

"Hey." Robin's answering smile is equal parts contentment and relief to talk with him again.

The last time they spoke they bonded over dads, though neither one said so out loud. It's one of the many unspoken truths in their friendship. Like the fact that she's fairly certain he gets her more than anyone else, something that's especially striking now, when her thoughts and feelings are so foreign to her new group of friends in New York. She knows he's the only one who will understand.

"Woah." Barney always enjoys their video chats, all the more so when she's the instigator – and well after midnight her time – but the first thing he notices tonight is what she has on. She's dressed to kill, decked out in a red satin dress with black lace trim. A red satin dress that's decidedly low cut and cleavage-baring, and he feels himself wanting her even from 2,800 miles away. "You look hot." The words spill out unconsciously, but he doesn't regret them.

"Thanks," Robin beams, pleased at his reaction. Ted had insisted she go with him tonight to Stewart and Claudia's wedding, despite the fact that she'd never before laid eyes on either one of them and by the couples' reaction it seems he didn't even have a plus one. "I just got back from a wedding," she explains, adding with a shrug, "Some friends of the boyfriend's; I don't really know them."

"And yet he wanted you there with him?" Barney shakes his head, appalled at the rookie mistake. "You don't bring a date to a wedding! That's like bringing a deer carcass on a hunting trip."

She smirks at that. "Well, this prey would have much preferred to stay home. I'm not exactly a fan of weddings."

He shoots her a look of disbelief. "Are you kidding? Weddings are the best as long as they're not yours."

Robin hums softly, nodding her head to the side in acknowledgment of that fine point. "As weddings go, this one was pretty amazing: hotel ballroom, glass chandeliers, expensive scotch, everybody all dressed up. He warned me in advance this was going to be a crazy-fancy black tie wedding, so I knew to bring my A game. I, in fact, brought it so hard I made the bride look like a big white bag of crap!"

"You must certainly did," Barney grins. "Stand up. Let me get a better look."

She stands up for him, modeling the dress audaciously – stroking a pose, turning a full three-sixty, showing him every angle to its best effect.

He tsks his tongue, appreciatively watching her. "Where is your boyfriend? Why isn't he banging you senseless right now?"

Robin smirks again, eating up his flattery. "We had a quickie at his place," she tells him, sitting back down, "but I came home after, said I had to go into work early but, really, it was all just a bit too much."

"He wanted to do something weird?" Barney guesses. "Everyone's always so quick to condemn Rotating Vietnamese Shame Wheels, but it's only because they're not ready," he contends in frustration.

"No," she snickers, "it's nothing like that." Her voice drops into the hushed tones of a disclosure in confidence. "Just…all this wedding stuff." She takes a deep breath before revealing in horror, "He was super into it."

"Mm-mm." Barney shakes his head in sympathy. "You poor woman. The only thing he should be super into right now is you."

"Right?! But you should have seen him. You'd have thought he was the one getting married. He was all caught up in – and I'm quoting him – 'the romance of it; a little music, a little dancing, a lot of champagne, and' – "

"Your boyfriend's gonna have to find another gender for himself," Barney cuts her off, having heard enough, "cause I'm revoking his dude membership." After a beat he gasps, his face brightening in glee at his sudden realization. "You are a lesbian, after all!"

Robin narrows her eyes at him. "Shut up. But the worst part is he really thinks that's how it works, that life is some kind of Rom-Com. You just put yourself and the girl you like in a romantic setting, the stars line up, and shazam! Magical, soul mate love!"

Barney joins her in a shudder.

She sighs heavily. "At least the cake was delicious. I should have found out who made it so I can go back to that bakery; then the night wouldn't have been a total loss. I was going to too, but my boyfriend was being so weirdly dreamy about it all, he was glued to my side the whole night." After a pause, she giggles out loud. "It really was like his dude membership has this tiny little clause at the bottom stipulating 'Not valid at weddings'. Something about them turns him into a starry-eyed twelve-year-old girl fantasizing about when it's going to be his turn."

"So on top of everything else, this boyfriend of yours is anxious to get married?"

Robin can't help laughing at the way he said the word 'married' like it's a fate worse than death. "I have never seen a guy so anxious," she confirms.

"You haven't met my friend yet," Barney chuckles, certain Ted's newfound obsessive desire to find "The One" easily tops however her boyfriend was behaving tonight.

"Well, my guy's biological clock is definitely ticking, let's put it that way."

"….Wow," he observes heavily.

"What?"

"It seems like you two have nothing in common."

Robin chafes a bit at that. It's a hit unnervingly close to her own deep-seated concerns. "We may want some different things…have different outlooks, maybe." Uncomfortable, she takes a stab at some tension easing humor. "But no one wants to date themselves, right?"

"Wrong," he brazenly contradicts. "Everyone is in love with themselves and would be dating themselves if they could."

"Not everyone is you, Barney. Haven't you ever heard of opposites attract?"

"Robin," he scoffs, "MC Skat Kat seems like a real bro, but other than the song when has that actually worked out? He takes two steps forward; you take two steps back? That just means you're getting nowhere. A fact you're well aware of, since the only one pleasing yourself in this relationship is you."

Robin blinks three times in quick succession. "What are you talking about?"

"You. And your little video," Barney says tellingly.

She huffs in exasperation. "You're the one who told me to make that."

"Yeah, and it was a great idea."

"So what's the problem?"

"The problem is the way you're using it: as the main event instead of an enhancement." A little crinkle of confusion forms between her eyebrows so he explains, "If in some other…strictly hypothetical…far, far off world, you and I were da – dat – " The word trips on his tongue, getting stuck there. "Let's just say 'mixing it up' – "

"Mmm, you really how to flatter a girl," she interjects sarcastically, a bit of real hurt unconsciously tucked into it.

" – we'd be enjoying it together," Barney finishes. "And by 'it' I mean going crazy on each other while the video plays in the background. As it is now, with this guy," he claims, "the only way you can have an orgasm is by giving yourself one."

"I never said that."

"It was implied. And as you've pointed out, you're a very sexual woman, so I know the problem isn't physical. The problem is – dare I use his term on you?" Barney impudently proposes. "Emotional intimacy. More specifically, the lack thereof. It's a symptom of a dying relationship, Scherbatsky. Because 'opposites attract' doesn't work. Sure, you could be mature about it and do a 'him thing' one night and a 'you thing' the next night, but then you're a couple who's only ever half happy at any given time: thus, the self-pleasuring in the bathtub late at night."

"I'm not the one asking for late-night sexts," Robin defends. "And if you don't believe in 'opposites attract', does that mean you and Shannon had a lot in common?"

It's a low blow, one she instantly regrets. But rather than take offense at it, Barney seems to genuinely consider her question.

"Not so much, no," he eventually reveals, a bit of the vigor gone out of him. "But that just stands as a warning, doesn't it?"

Robin can't deny there's truth in what he's saying. These Skype sessions with Barney are the most refreshing part of her week; she finds herself consistently looking forward to them, even more lately.

She just has to try so hard with Ted. She has to censor her behavior. There are so many things she has to keep from him: the smoking, her guns, her real number of past sexual partners. They've had to place the whole 'no kids and marriage' thing as a completely off-limits topic of conversation, but he still finds roundabout ways to sneak it in and try to manipulate her around to his side.

The whole thing can be so….exhausting sometimes that seeing Barney, talking with him, just being able to be herself with him, feels like coming up for air after you've begun to drown.

Barney shrugs. "Do what you want." A smile tickles at his lips. "Let me rephrase that: do whoever you want; I always do. All I'm saying is you shouldn't be expecting 'happily ever after' out of Mr. Romance, with whom you can't see eye-to-eye on anything."

"Well, it's a good thing I don't believe in 'happily ever after' any more than you do," she says, and he tips his head in endorsement of that. "I only believe in 'right now'. And for right now….?" Robin sighs contemplatively. "For right now, it'll do."