It's finally morning.

Barney feels as heavy as ever, his body sore from sitting in one spot all night, from all the hits he took. Last night, when the guy pulled his gun over Robin, he just lost it. It was stupid. It was a reflex.

He rubs his eyes. He hadn't slept at all.

Every few seconds he'd pinch his skin, remind himself to stay awake and keep guard as she curled up in the corner away from him and slept. He had almost wanted to put his jacket over her. But with one hand cuffed to a pipe, it was impossible. Besides, they aren't exactly the best of friends right now.

Their break-up was supposed to be two friends getting back together. And he had believed her when she said it. But they had only gone from bad to worse; from fighting to ignoring each other. He couldn't stand the fact that she seemed so fine with him exaggerating every conquest. Not all were true. For awhile, he didn't even feel obliged enough to go hit on random women, when all of them reminded him of her.

He took little parts of her and put them into those women he supposedly slept with, described them as lovingly as he would her, defended them as he had her. And she never noticed.

Suddenly, the door creaks open. A man walks in , smirking, a big bucket in hand.

'Had a good night's sleep?' He throws icy, cold water over their heads, and Robin gasps awake. He pushes hair out of his face. The man, satisfied with their reaction, beckons a boy to bring in a tray of food. 'Eat up. You'll need the energy.'

'Why?' he asks.

The man just shrugs. 'I just follow orders, man.'

'Can I get some burgers?'

He rolls his eyes and slams the door, leaving them alone.

On the tray there's one bottle of water, a few packs of old biscuits and a an apple. He briefly wonders if it's poisoned. Bottle in hand, he offers it to her.

'Aren't you thirsty?' she asks, groggily reaching out.

Parched. 'No, you go first.'

'Thanks.'

He watches as she drowns half of the water, and moves to open the biscuits. They eat in silence. All three packs are gone in a matter of minutes, the bottle kicked aside, wrappers torn into pieces. His head throbs from the blow last night. But he can't tell her that.

'You don't look so good.'

'Why do you care?' he snaps, the lack of sleep getting to him. 'You got to sleep all night long.'

'Excuse me for having a bad day yesterday and wanting to get some rest.'

'And what a great place you chose.'

She shakes her head. 'Actually, that was you, Barney. Thanks a lot for bringing me here. Really.'

He opens his mouth to retort, but before he does, the door bursts open. One by one, they file into the room. All masked. All dressed in black. All armed.

'Who are you?' Barney demands.

They don't answer. Two of them uncuff him and drag him onto a chair, binding his hands. He looks at Robin, sitting there. The tension escalates.

'That was a very big deal you decided to throw away at Ultracell,' one of the men start to say. Must be the gang leader. Intense eyes. 'Millions of dollars were at stake. Why did you?'

'Why what?'

'Don't play cocky with me.'

'The company's been wanting to improve their image, lately. We decided JDJ Corporation was too shady. We even lost touch with the North Koreans.'

The guy fingers his gun. Picks it up and bashes Barney with it. He hears Robin's gasp, doesn't dare look into her eyes, and raises his chin.

'Was that supposed to hurt?' he asks defiantly.

Robin starts. 'Barney—'

'Shut up.' The man circles around him. Hits him again, harder. Barney is left reeling, his head spinning, but he tries to shake it off. He can't appear affected. Not here, not with her in the room. He has to play it like it doesn't matter. 'How's that, Stinson?'

'On a scale of one to five, one being the lowest? That was a three.'

The guy's eye twitches. 'I don't have time for your games.'

'Too bad.'

'Look, we know you're valuable to the company. And that you spearheaded the team that rejected the contract.'

'Maybe I did.'

'You did.'

'How can you be sure?'

'We've done our research, Stinson. For example. We know that you and—what's her name—'

'Robin,' he interjects. 'Her name is Robin.'

'—Robin, are exes.' He raises an eyebrow. 'Correct? There's not a lot we don't know about you. But you know nothing about us.'

'Aren't you going to tell me what you want? Money? A better contract? Why are we here?'

He moves close to Barney's face, an inch from his eyes—so close he can see the shaking anger, the hatred—and drops his voice.

'I lost everything when that contract got rejected. My whole life. All I want now is to rebuild it, and make you pay for everything you've done,' he growls. The voice is familiar, Barney thinks. But he can't recognize it. 'You'll regret ever ripping JDJ off. I promise you.'

He holds his breath. Just stares at the guy, point-black.

'Who are you?' he murmurs.

'Walter.'

'Is that your real name?'

'No.'

Walter sternly unbuckles his belt, waving it threateningly. Two other men hold him down to the chair as he struggles desperately.

'My mother used to have a belt like that,' he says through gritted teeth. There is something scary about this guy; he's the quiet, calculated type. Those are always harder to read. 'Am I getting spanked today?'

'I don't like that tone, Stinson. You're too arrogant. But when we're through with you, you'll be a brand new man.'

In the corner of his eye, he notices Robin being held by a burly man, looking helpless watching him. She tries to fight against the big guy's grip. He just knows she's silently trying to get him to stop talking.

He feels a sting on the side of his face. His mind whirs around. His face feels numb. Fists, spit, blood and baseball bats. Belts. Thoughts incoherent. His whole body too shaky. He slumps against the chair, panting and gasping for the next breath. It lasts for what feels like hours. In his effort to detach himself, to survive, he tries to find something else to occupy his mind aside from the humiliation and pain.

And he comes up with this recurring thought.

If, somehow by a chance of fate, they make it out of here alive, he promises he'll never take anything for granted again. Not the people around him, not alcohol, not bimbos. Not Robin.

'Run out of things to say, have you, you smart-mouthed son of a bitch,' one of the men holding him down snickers.

With all his strength, Barney Stinson looks up and spits at the man's eyes.

XXX

They'd cuffed him back to the pipe roughly an hour ago, his knuckles and palms cut, swollen and purple. He had felt something warm on the side of his face. Gushing. He touched it lightly(it stung like hell), and his finger came back a deep red. It took him seconds to realize what it was with his head swimming in delirious throbbing cycles. They had used everything in their disposal to hit him. Took turns, even. He can still remember the way they laughed into his ears as he tried to sit up still. On his foot is his torn suit jacket, laying there, useless.

This is just the beginning, Stinson. We're just warming up.

He isn't sure how much more he can take. It was humiliating. Terrifying. Like a scene out of the most horrifying movies, only worse, because she was there and she witnessed everything.

Now he's too tired to even think of a joke to reassure her that's they haven't knocked the spirit out of him. Well, not yet, anyway.

'You have to stop doing that.' Robin's frustrated voice cuts through the silence. He only realizes then how dark it already is. Dusk, probably.

He swallows. His throat is dry. 'Doing what?'

'Pushing their buttons! They're torturing you out there!'

'They can do anything they want. I can't stop them.'

'You're not helping anyone by doing that.'

'Oh, I'm sorry, did that hurt?' he asks sardonically. As if their relationship isn't strained enough. He clears his throat and kicks his jacket aside angrily.

'You just can't help yourself, can you? You have to push everyone who cares away.'

That gets to him. But he steels himself, and it's one thing he does well.

'Your voice is too loud,' he tells her. 'It's making my head hurt.'

'Fine. I'll stop talking.'

He wants to say no, that isn't what he meant at all. Can't she see through him? It's so painfully, shamefully obvious. She pulls her knees up to her chest and looks up, the dying lights of sunset playing around her somber expression. Sweat glistens on her face. Her hair is all messed up and there's a cut on her lip. Even so, he doesn't think he will ever meet anyone as beautiful.

I'm sorry, he wants to say. He feels the urge to admit everything he's been feeling since their breakup—how he feels like she's slipping away, how jealous he's been, how stupidly he acts around her. All of it.

But he can't.

Thanks so much for the reviews for last chapter! I hope I didn't disappoint. I know it's a cliche when two characters with chemistry get kidnapped, but I want to put my own spin on it all.

AT LEAST 7 reviews, I guess, 'til the next time. :) Bad or good! Or just nonsense, really.