how quickly the glamour fades

Cold night sweeps through him; uncut and absent of any and all smooth edges or warmth.

The only source of heat or even light is her lips on his, her fingers at his tie and pressing bruises into his collarbone. On instinct, he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her closer, the other hand slipping into her hair.

She pulls down hard on the knot of his tie. She tastes like cheap cornerstore liquor and early morning coffee; her scent bleeds against him, the sea water in her hair and the pressed books she's been pouring over for work.

Her fingers trail down his abs and her lips move along his jaw and she pulls at the loops on his belt. "Barney," she murmurs against him, her voice glowing golden in this dark beautiful little corner of theirs.

"Barney."

He pulls away from her, and the cold starts bleeding into him. He blinks. "Oh God," he says, "Oh fucking Christ," he steps away from her, and cards his fingers through his hair.

"Shh," she says, pressing her fingers against his lips; cold, smooth, real. "Shh, shh."

He pushes himself away from her. "No," he says, his breath coming out in small, smouldering gasps and he's looking her up and down and all he wants to do is to blink and she'll be gone, or it won't be her, or it won't be him, or it won't be anybody and this never even happened. "Robin. No."

Her fingers are at his collar, scratching down his skin. "Why not?"

"Oh God," he says, "Robin, we can't—it's not—you know we can't—"

She stares at him, blinking at him in between his blurry glances.

Slowly, she moves and links her arms around his neck, closing in on all the space he's been trying to put between them. She kisses him again, softer this time, slower this time, her tongue doing all the things he likes, and she picks up his hands and guides them to her waist.

Her free hand is cradling his jaw, and she's pushing her body against his.

He breaks away. "Stop," he says, a small snatch of sentence to combat her sudden lack of sanity, "Robin, please. You're not... thinking straight. You're drunk," he just keeps on throwing words at her, something to protect him from any of this, but all dissolving before they make contact. "You're pissed, and you're lonely, and you're drunk and this is a bad idea and—"

She hits him hard in the chest, pain flaring, and she's scowling, "That wouldn't stop you with any other girl."

"But," he stops, watching her lips and her teeth catching on them and the faint smell of the sea pressed into her skin and the makeup she's not wearing, until the screaming in his head breaks through.

"But it's not any other girl. It's you."

Not some blonde, not some bimbo, not some broken toy or a cheap hookup.

"It's you, Robin."

She spins out away from him and tears at the wall, eyes screaming as she hits and scratches and claws at the brick until pieces crumble into her hands and her fingers are bleeding and not for the first time he wonders if she's breaking down, if maybe they both are.

She throws the flecks and spittle of concrete at him and slams her palm flat into the middle of his chest. "You're an idiot. You're a fucking idiot, Barney Stinson."

Her eyes flame. "Who cares if it's me? Who cares if I'm drunk? Don't you pull that honourable shit on me, Barney. I've seen what you do to your numbers. Fuck, I've been left with the aftermath." She pulls down hard on his tie, and he can feel the pieces of her shattering all over, a war he never knew he was fighting, a war he never wanted to be fighting. "I want this, Barney. I want you. Now tell me, what parts of that do you not understand?"

She pulls away from him. She rips the jacket he gave her off her shoulders and throws it down into the dirt. "I'm vulnerable enough, I'm drunk enough, I hate Ted enough. Now what the fuck is wrong with you?"

He grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her, a little. "Robin, calm down. Please."

She stares at him, into him, breaking him. "No. I'm not going to calm down. And do you know why, Barney?" she says, her lips cracked and bleeding, her eyes blurred in with a canvas of her own bad decisions. "I haven't watched you parade conquest after conquest past me for the last three years just for you to do this to me now. Don't pretend like you have morals. Don't pretend like you even know what that means. There's only one thing I'm asking for here, Barney."

Her voice is low, resonating in her throat, blending in with a world tilted sideways.

"Pretend like I'm not with Ted."

Parts of him, the dark parts of him, the twisted parts of him, wonder what would happen if he took her up on her offer. Something great, maybe. Probably. Something bad, definitely.

The seething shallow things inside him are screaming at him, and he doesn't want to hear the words.

He picks his jacket up from the ground. "You know I can't do that, Robin."

She pulls out another cigarette and flicks up his lighter, and for one vague shadowed moment he wonders if she'll set herself on fire just to watch the flames.

"And it's in your precious Bro Code, is it?" she says in between her own dragon smoke blown into a nightmarish starlight, "Hooking up with your best bro's girlfriend is somewhere in those rules? It sounds like it would be."

"No," he says, slowly, and she eyes him as the cigarette dangles from her lips, "It's so obvious that it isn't even in there."

She breathes a low, steady laugh. "Interesting."

Something raw starts to pulse in the bottom of his throat. "What's interesting?"

"You're interesting, Barney."

He doesn't know if she's trying to play up his interest, the interest she knows he has, because no one can blame him and she really is pretty goddamn interesting, or if she's trying to distract him and disguise how drunk she actually is when they can both hear the sloppiness behind her words and the slur that coats her vowels.

He sighs; his breath drifts against the wind. "Look, Robin, it's late and—"

"—and we should probably get going?" she says, one eyebrow arched, but her face shows no signs of anything other than blue eyes and blank static. She shrugs. "Yeah, you've spun that line on me before, Barney."

He blinks, and sighs again. Then he throws his jacket back on, because she may be Canadian but it's cold without her standing next to him. "Whatever, Robin."

She throws her cigarette to the ground. "Yeah, you're right. Whatever."

Her eyes lift to his, reflecting against the skyline of skyscrapers and stars. "So, is this what we're doing? Are we just forgetting this?"

"I definitely hope so," he mutters, and he hears her move a few steps closer.

She puts a hand on his shoulder. "Barney?"

He looks at her but not before shrugs her off. "What is it?"

"Please tell me I didn't fuck this up."

She's not crying, but the things beneath her voice are enough. "You didn't fuck anything up, Scherbatsky."

"Then tell your face that," she says, her voice starting to lighten, "Because your face is saying I fucked things up."

He's well aware what his face is saying, and he's well aware of the things he doesn't want it to say. "Go home, Scherbatsky. Go home to Ted."

She draws back. "No," she says, straightening, her jaw setting. "I'll call Lily. I'll crash at her place. I'm not going back to Ted." Her breath stops, for a second, behind her lips. "At least... not tonight."

He breathes in, slowly. "You do whatever the hell you want, Robin."

"Oh, no," she says, "You've already made it pretty damn clear I'm not allowed to do whatever the hell I want. Otherwise this—" she gestures to the world around them, her words floating into the night sky, "—this is definitely not what we'd be doing right now."

He steps back. "You're right. Crashing at Lily's is a good idea," he says, and turns around and walks back into the street. "I'll get you a cab."

It only takes a second for the cab to roll up in beside them, despite the late hour, and she slides into the one he hails for her.

She's staring straight ahead, unblinking, not breathing, not looking at him and he'll admit the absence of her eyes from the twisted canvas that plays out their broken scene is for a moment on of the most terrifying things he's ever experienced.

"Robin?"

She rolls down the window, breathing cold smoke against his face.

She sighs. "Yeah, Barney?"

He traces a thin line into the condensation on the side of the cab. "You're not going to tell Ted, are you?"

She snorts and lets out a short, crisp laugh. "Of course not. God, Barney. It's like you don't know me at all."

Lately he's been operating under the assumption that he doesn't. "Okay," he says, softly. "So, this never happened?"

She arches a brow. "What never happened?"

He smiles.

She reaches up and runs a finger over his cheek. "Goodnight, Barney."

"Night, Scherbatsky."

x

It's been a week since their little incident and he's done the best job he can of forgetting that anything ever happened.

Lily slides in across from him, all set and glaring. "Okay, look-y here, mister bigshot,"

"I think you mean mister big penis, but go on."

"Hey, hey. There is a baby in this bar." She swallows and looks down at Marvin gurgling in her lap. She cringes. "Oh God, there is a baby in this bar."

She bangs her head back into the seat a couple times.

He shares a concerned glance with Marvin. "Moving on, Lily. You were pissed, you were making a big dramatic opening scene out of it..."

Her face brightens. "Yes, right," she says, and quickly adopts her stern expression back from moments ago, "You can't just go around saying stupid stuff all the time, alright? It's not cool, dude." She says, leaning over the table, her voice darkening, "It is not cool."

He frowns and takes a sip from his scotch. "Sorry, Aldrin, you've lost me."

"Just what the—" she stops, her eyes widening as she glances down to the baby she's bouncing in her lap, "Just what the h-e-l-l do you think you're doing?"

"I'm, uh, not sure," he says, shrugging, "You're being pretty vague here, Lil."

She slams her palm flat against the table. Then she bites down on her lip and looks down at baby Marvin, "No no, sweetie. Don't cry. Don't cry," she says, stroking his soft head, and then she smiles, "Oh look, he's actually not crying. Go team Lilypad."

Barney shakes his head and leans over, fist-bumping with Marvin. "There you go, buddy. It's okay, I know it can't be easy to have a psychotic mommy."

Lily huffs, eyeing him up and down with a stare he can only assume is supposed to be some sort of burn on him. He flashes her a grin.

She scowls some more, "I would whack you one right here in this booth if I didn't have my adorable little baby shnooky-wook right here with me. I mean, look at him, look at his chubby little cheeks and his—"

"Lily, you're going all super cheesy on me here and unless you want to clean two guys' spit up off that designer shirt you're gonna get to the freaking point."

"Okay, okay, fine," she says, sighing. "My point is, what in God's name did you say to Robin?"

He leans back. "Nothing. I didn't say anything to her."

"Don't you start lying to me, Barney Stinson," she reaches over and pokes at his face, "Your left cheek always twitches whenever you lie to me. Now confess your sins or I swear the baby's not going to be enough to keep me from slapping you right in that pretty face of yours."

He stares at her. She arches a brow, challenging him, and she looks pretty determined to actually get some physical violence in so he pouts, "Fine, Lily. God. How do you even know I said anything to her?" he stops, for a second. He leans forward, voice dropping, "Wait. What did Robin say to you?"

"Robin didn't say anything. She didn't have to," she says in a light voice, "She's been acting weird. She hasn't been back home for the last week."

"Wait, uh..." he says, turning his glass around, not looking at her, "She hasn't? Really?"

"Nope," she says, shaking her head and grabbing a few peanuts from the table, popping them into her mouth, "She's been staying with us. And, I mean, that would be fine but who is she kidding, Marvin bothers her even on a good day. She can't stand kids."

"Well," he says, ready to defend, then he just sighs, "Yeah, I guess."

"So I know you said something, Barney," she sighs, and bounces Marvin up and down on her hip, "She doesn't listen to me anymore because apparently since I became a mom I'm too lame for her or something," she says, her voice cracking a little bit, and she bites down on her lip, wiping at her eyes with a green napkin. "I'm not crying. I'm not. I'm fine."

"Lily, are you okay?" he says, frowning. "I didn't know things between you and Robin—"

She shakes her head, sniffing. "Nope, nope. You're not turning into one of my sappy douche zombies. We don't need another Ted in this group. You buck up, Stinson, or so help me I'm going to set your jacket on fire."

He laughs. "Okay, alright, fine. What were we saying?"

"Oh God, I don't know. Where we we, uhm..." she closes her eyes, then snaps her fingers at him, "Ah! Robin. We were at Robin. So she dropped down on our doorstep last week, drunk out of her mind. She says she and Ted are just in a rough patch, but I don't know..." she trails off.

Her eyes lift to his, "Did you say anything to her?"

He lies.

"No."

She sighs and leans back. She runs a hand through her hair. "Then I have no idea what to do."

"You just take care of Marvin," he says. "I'll talk to Robin."

"Really?" she says, and starts to smile, "Thank you, Barney."

By this time Robin is sliding in next to Lily, pressing her wine glass close against her. "So, what are you guys talking about?"

Lily looks down. "Uhm, uh—sports. Yeah. Fantasy football. Something..."

Robin makes a face at Lily's words and takes slow sips from her glass. She doesn't even look at him. "Yeah, sure." She glances down at baby Marvin, edging away when he reaches out to grab her fingers, "How's my favourite rockstar?"

"Oh, Barney's doing fine," Lily says, frowning and pulling Marvin closer to her.

"I was talking about, uh, the baby... but alright." She says. She shrugs.

Lily sighs and squeezes out of the other side of the booth. "Well, I'd better get going, I guess." She says, hugging Marvin close to her. She stares Barney down, her eyebrows lifting. "So... you're gonna do that thing we talked about, right?"

He nods. "Yeah. Sure. Of course."

"Thanks, Barney. Really." She says, and pats his shoulder before rounding the booth and walking out.

Robin looks at him for the first time that evening, and barely watches Lily as she leaves. "What's this thing you talked about?"

"Uhm..." he starts to choke on his own words, and he coughs out, "What to get Marshall for his birthday. Yeah."

She frowns at him. "Okay, you're acting weird. Really weird." She says. She leans forward slightly, just enough so that her hair tumbles off her shoulders and he can partially see down her top and he's pretty goddamn sure she knows that, "Everything... okay?"

He leans back and presses his cold tumbler of scotch against his lips. His cold, cold tumbler. "Mm. Everything's... everything's fine, Robin. Everything's fine."

"Well," she says, leaning back and shrugging. "Fine is good. Fine is good..."

"So," he's suddenly wishing there's more alcohol in his glass, a lot more, "How are things at home?"

Her face shuts off; hardens and turns cold and she's not playing any of those games she loves to play anymore.

Her nostrils starting to flare and she leans back and stops looking at him. "Things at home are fine."

"Oh really?" he says, "So how's the boyfriend?"

She runs her fingers over the table, her nail polish cracking against the wood. "Just what the fuck do you think you're doing, Barney?"

He shrugs. "You said everything was going to be back to normal between us."

"Oh, and so this is what you usually do? Say stupid things to piss me off?"

"Seems like it."

"God, Barney," she says, running her hands through her hair until it has that nice windswept I've just been fucked quality that she knows he likes, "It's been a week since I've even seen your face. I thought you'd at least not be a total jackass."

"Looks like you thought wrong, Scherbatsky."

She leans over, but this time she's looking him straight in the eye. "So is this what it's going to be like now? Does this—" she gestures between them, "—do we just fade away because of something stupid I did one time when I was drunk?"

He stares into his empty glass and never does answer her.

"Well, then. I guess that TS Eliot guy was right," she says, and gets up, "This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but with a fucking coward."

By the time he looks up again, she's gone.