There is nothing better than being with her. It feels… just so nice. Although Barney hates that word. "Nice", it's such a bland word, it doesn't really convey how he feels about the headstrong Canadian.
"Nice" doesn't conjure up the warmth that spreads through his belly whenever he's near her. The word is too small to describe the lift he feels at her every word, how his face breaks into a weird, spontaneous smile, no matter how cool he tries to appear.
They've seen a lot more of Robin since Don's been out of the picture and Barney refuses to feel selfish for liking that. He likes it - hanging out with Robin. She makes him feel… good. Glowing. She makes him glow. She's the only woman who's ever made him even think the word "glow".
Or "nice". Barney doesn't do "nice". Not with women. But then Robin's always been more than just another woman to him, even back when she was his Bro-with-boobs.
And she's distracting. Throughout the evening, Robin makes acid comments; tiny biting remarks. She makes him laugh, then tells him to shut up.
Somehow, three scotch-and-sodas later, it's just him and her and a bar full of bimbos who hold less than zero appeal for him. It's not like he has any illusions of taking Robin to bed, even if she was willing.
But it's nice. There's that word again. It's vaguely flattering that she opens up to him, and seemingly him alone; that she seems less concerned about being judged. He enjoys watching her guard come down as she works her way single-handedly through a bottle of wine. Eventually, as her looks become dishevelled and her accent thickens, he wants to interject, to tell her to slow down a pace. He can see the edges of despair in her, something he'd suspected was there but she does an incredible job of hiding from them.
He's glad she's finally let that shine through. He knows a little about despair, about hiding it, about not dealing with it. He knows what an asshole it sometimes makes you.
It's not like Barney's even come out of the other side yet to guide her through, but at least he can support her. At least he can empathize. He knows how it feels having to let go of someone you love.
And even like this, even ragged, with a hitched-sob in her voice, lips stained burgundy from the wine, eyes glazed... even like this she's beautiful.
Even like this she makes him glow.
"I can't believe this happened to me," Robin slurs. "The one time I take a leap, and the guy I loved just bolts."
That stings a little, that Robin doesn't think she took a leap for him. But hey, Barney lets it pass, the alcohol deadening his reactions.
"It was stupid. Stupid decision-making brain! And then I get back home and I make out with- I almost make out with- Ted, and-"
The rest of what Robin's saying goes fuzzy with static, like a radio station with the signal gone bad. Did she just say she almost made out with Ted?
"I mean, can you imagine?" Robin continues, her gaze suddenly sharp and focussed. "We might have kissed. And then… other things. We didn't mean to. It just happened! And then it only didn't happen because of his hair. Stupid blonde hair…"
Robin's rambling now, her voice a little panicky. Her words doing the job of a pint of coffee and a cold shower and suddenly Barney feels unbearably sober.
He blinks.
Thoughts collide in his head and overlap chaotically, too fast for him to process. Thoughts like, she was Ted's first... and it wouldn't be their first backslide. And Ted's still in love with her.
Robin was in love with Ted but maybe the thing with Don was more serious than he thought, maybe she's ready for marriage? Maybe he doesn't know her at all?
Mostly Barney's just aware of how much it hurts.
"I'm sorry," Robin says, and jeez, there's pity in her eyes; pity for poor, love-struck Barney Stinson, who was always the reacher.
"I didn't mean to," she grimaces.
She's the settler. She doesn't mean to be, but she is.
To be continued...