Robin never thought she'd say it but, jeez! What does it take to seduce Barney Stinson?

Rolling onto her belly, she slides one hand back across the bed until her fingers are buried in the soft silk of his comforter. Then she inhales a deep lungful of his scent - that heady combination of spice and musk and maleness that was uniquely Barney. God, he always smells so good. Breathing out through her mouth, she sucks in another lungful, her lips pressed against the pillow. This is where he lies, where he sleeps, where he makes love…

There's a twisting sensation in her gut.

Damn him! She'd stripped practically down to her underwear for him and followed him up into his apartment. What does he want? A written request? Some kind of pre-sexual agreement?

They'd both been sweat-slick and tuckered out after their run. Exactly how had they not ended up in bed?

Exhaling again with frustration, Robin lets her limbs go limp, relaxing every aching muscle one by one until her thoughts begin to drift. She feels so tired after that run, and it's so warm and comfortable and familiar here in Barney's bedroom. She can feel her body slowly sinking into the bedding, like her skeleton is made of metal, weighing her down. What she should be doing is taking that shower. She probably looks disgusting. But wow, it's so, so comfy here.

Any minute now, she'll get up.

Robin turns her head to one side and sighs, then buries her nose back into the pillow. When she closes her eyes, she can almost imagine he's here with her, his long, lean body sprawled only inches away from hers. She wants him to be here, to be hers, but it's all too easy to imagine the use this bed's been put to since she and Barney ended their relationship. It's all too easy to imagine him with other women.

Taking another breath, it occurs to Robin that she can't smell them, these other women. There is no cheap perfume or smudge of lipstick from his Saturday night conquest. There's only Barney.

Smiling sleepily, Robin tugs the comforter and wraps it around her body.

Yep, any minute now, she'll get up. Five minutes. She'll just take five minutes to recuperate from all that exercise.

Maybe ten.

#~~ #~~

"Where the hell have you been?" Marshall hisses when Barney finally arrives at the Dowisetrepla apartment.

"Uh, I've been working, dude!" Barney protests. "Didn't Robin tell you?"

Marshall glares at him. "Robin's not here. Robin's not here and Lily's going crazy! You don't know how much effort my wonderful wife has made with this meal?"

Barney shakes his head, surveying the carnage of the kitchen, and Ted and Lily sitting dolefully on the couch. "Oh, I think I can guess," he sighs. "So where's Robin?"

Ted looks up and there's something unreadable in his expression. "Well, she's not here, is she? But I guess we should get used to people not being here."

Oh. So that's the way it's going to be? Ted's practically radiating passive-aggressive rage.

"We've tried calling her," Marshall explains. "We've left a hundred messages. She's off the grid."

There's a tremor in Barney's chest which could be concern. But it's difficult to fathom when Ted's seriously trying to replicate Lily's death-stare. Barney fishes out his iPhone, holding it up in front of him like a shield. There are ten frantic text messages, all from Marshall. "Nope, nothing from Robin. Although she was okay when I left her back at my place this morning. Want me to call her?"

There's a weird silence from the others, accompanied by a sick feeling in the pit of Barney's stomach as he realizes exactly how incriminating that sounds. He opens his mouth and closes it again. Crap, he really could have been a lot more subtle. He's doing this all wrong. "No, I mean-"

"When were you going to tell us?" Ted says, his voice flat and serious.

"I didn't sleep with Robin!" Barney protests. "We went for a run, then I got called into work. She wanted to take a shower at my place." Even to him it sounds like a lie. Barney knows they have no reason to believe him and it's way more plausible that he and Robin had sex, and she got pissed at him and is sulking somewhere. It's so plausible, in fact, that he almost believes it himself. And he's so focused on how weird that makes him feel, that Ted's next words come out of left field.

"Not about Robin," Ted says. "About Washington. When were you going to tell us that you were running out on us, Barney? When were you going to tell us that you were leaving?"

All the blood drains from Barney's face.

Yep, he's doing this so wrong.