A/N: I don't own HIMYM or these characters. I'm not making any money off of this.


The Shiva. Mid-January 2025

[Future Ted]: Kids, after your mom died, I was at my worst. It was about six weeks after her funeral. Now, Penny, you probably remember this phase.

[Penny]: The zombified vagrant who impersonated my father, yeah.

[Future Ted]: Right, but there are some things you probably don't know. So anyway . . .

I was sitting on the floor beside my living room couch, gripping a pillow. I was wearing a ragged, stained sweatshirt, filthy sweatpants, and a three-week unkempt, scruff beard. Strewn about the room were the empty pizza boxes, broken half-eaten pieces of pizza crust, and empty bear bottles. In the far-left corner of the room, a colony of ants were happily helping themselves to the remainders of a peppers-and-onion pie. The window shades were drawn down. The mirrors were covered with black cloth. Candles burned on the living room table. Their fumes helped to mask the scents of decay, stale beer, and my unshowered self. I hadn't bathed since right before the funeral.

[Penny]: Gross.

Anyway, it was when I was at my worst that I heard the knock on the door. "Go away," I cried. But the knock returned, harder this time. Eventually, I shock off some pizza crumbs from my shirt and managed to muster up the strength to rise and greet my visitor.

It was Robin. Now, kids, don't ask me what she was wearing or how she looked. Truthfully, I so out of it with grief and lack of sleep that I don't remember. All I remember is her smile when she greeted me. And it was the kindest smile that I had seen in six weeks – probably some time before then.

[Luke] Dad, what about us?

[Future Ted] You had both just lost your mom. Penny – you were, was distant, angry. And you, Luke, were so young that I'm not sure you understood. You just kept crying and asking when mommy was coming back. Neither of you were smiling. Anyway, to get back to my story. . .

I tried to muster up a smile back. I half-succeeded. It was good to see her.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi Robin. This is a surprise." I responded.

I motioned her inside. She nodded and followed me. "Marshall called me. He was worried about you. Where are the kids?"

I offered her a seat on the couch, and then resumed my post on the floor. "Martin Luther King Weekend. They are with my mom and Cliff. They come back on Monday night."

Robin scanned the room before, with great hesitation, sitting down. She was practically holding her nose, but trying to be polite about it. I didn't blame her. The place smelled. "They are coming home, to this? Ted, what is this? The covered mirrors, sitting on the floor?"

"Shiva," I answered. "Half-Jewish, remember?"

Robin replied skeptically. "You've never done a Jewish thing in your life Ted. Besides, living in New York, you learn things. Shiva lasts a week. It's been almost two months."

I protested. "Well, I'm very observant in my non-observance. Anyway, the Jewish thing is on both sides."

"Both sides?" Robin asked.

"Not really," I confessed. "But Tracy's father's cousin's step-brother once hired a Jewish plumber."

She responded back sharply. "Shiva doesn't mean don't bathe or clean up after yourself."

I nodded. "Well, I'm improvising."

Robin shot me a look. I can't quite describe it. It wasn't pity or sympathy. It was pure caring. I'd never seen that look from her. Heck, I'd never seen that look from anyone other than your mother.

"Ted. Truth, please."

"Fine," I responded. I raised my voice in anger. But my anger wasn't directed at Robin, and I'm sure she knew that. It was anger directed at the universe. "I'm sitting here because a day isn't enough to mourn. We had the wake. We had the funeral. Everyone came. Then everyone left. Marshall and Lily, Barney, you. My mom and Cliff stayed for a few weeks, through Christmas and New Year's, but they had to get back to their lives. And I was alone, with two young kids who would never see their mother again. Penny even asked me why Santa gave Mommy cancer for Christmas. Showering and cleaning up after pizza didn't seem to be the most important thing."

Robin reached out from the couch and grasped my hand. "You could have called Marshall, or Barney."

I acknowledged her point. "They've dropped by a few times. But they have their own kids to worry about."

Robin was resolute. She squeezed my hand and extended an even more comforting smile. "You could have called me."

I turned away. "I didn't want to bother you. You've got your fabulous life. You've got better things to do than to babysit a sad, drunken widower. Besides, we're barely friends anymore."

"Ted," she responded. Her voice was firm but sorrowful. In my own grief, I had hurt her.

"Well, it's true. We almost never see each other. Once or twice a year at most, and always in groups. Then, last summer, you parachute in out of the blue to take my kids on adventures. You were the Amazing Aunt. You were wonderful. You literally saved my kids' summer. And, yes, I know that it's me, and I'm using literally in a less than literal fashion. . . "

Through the hurt, Robin stifled a laugh.

I acknowledged the laugh with a subtle nod, then continued ". . . which only shows how messed up I am right now. But my point remains the same. I don't think we exchanged more than a few words all last summer. We haven't really been close. . ."

Robin finished my sentence. "Since Barney and I got married."

"Yeah," I answered. "And the few times we did hang out. . ."

"It got weird," she said, finishing my sentence again.

She was right, there's no denying it. A few years before your mom passed, and shortly after Robin returned to New York for good, we got lunch together. It was at the lunch when Robin confessed she still had feelings for me. I let her down gently. But things were weird after that. Weirder than when the shoe was on the other foot. After all, I was married. And, while I trusted myself and loved your mother, my history with Robin was messy enough that I knew that I should keep my distance. As Muhammad once said, "Trust in God, but tether your camel." Well, I trusted in my love for your mother . . . but I was going to keep my camel tethered.

[Penny]: Ugh. Can you stop talking about your penis?

[Future Ted]: Not remotely what I meant. It's just a metaphor, really. You see, the story starts that Muhammad came upon a Bedouin leaving his camel untied. . . "

[Penny]: I don't really care. Can you just get back to the story?

[Future Ted] Fine, so anyway . . .

Robin and I sat together in silence for what could have been a few seconds, or a few minutes. Time kind of blurred together. But, at some point, Robin removed her hand from mine, and scanned the room again. Her eyes focused in on the flourishing ant colony. "After the long weekend, are your mom and Cliff coming back here?"

I shook my head. "They have their lives."

Robin posed another question. "Your dad?"

I shook my head again. "He couldn't help, even if he wanted to. Alzheimer's."

Robin grasped my hand once again. "And you'll be watching the kids, like this?"

I just nodded wordlessly.

Robin smiled slightly. "That settles it then. I'm not leaving. I'll be with you, and the kids, as long as it takes."

I shook my head "no," before answering her verbally. "I can't ask you to do that. You're a big important reporter. You have your life"

Robin squeezed my hand again. "And you're my friend. Ted, you've never won an argument with me. And you never will. But, if it makes you feel better, think of this as me doing this for me."

I sat perplexed. "I don't understand."

Robin responded. "I want my friend back. Now, scooch over."

She plopped down from the couch and sat on the floor next to me. She wrapped her arms around me. Then she flinched. The odor was too much for her.

"And . . . as my first duty as your friend, I'm ordering you to take a shower. Now, Ted."

[Future Ted]: Kids, I'm not sure how much you remember. But your Aunt Robin stayed with us for almost three months, till the absolute worst for me was over. The woman who never wanted to be a mother got you ready for school, packed your lunches, and drove you to Saturday soccer practice. Then, every night, after you kids got to sleep, we'd stay up talking. Well, Robin said very little. Mostly, it was me talking about Tracey. I must have been miserable to be around. But, if I was, Robin never let me know it. In fact, the funny, screwy thing is, she seemed to be like being here, with us. She almost seemed sorry the day she finally packed up her bags and left. It was a side of her that I've never seen, that I didn't know existed. But it was a side of her that I'd see more of, in the coming years. . .


A/N: Reviews are very much welcome. Expecting two to three more chapters.