PART FOUR

"I don't want to push you in the fountain," Robin said before Barney could shuck out of his jacket. "I don't want to throw drinks at you. I want," she took in a deep breath, her gaze shooting skyward before settling on Barney once more. "I want to know what happened to us."

"What happened to us?" Barney echoed her words, each syllable separate and distinct, his eyes blinking as though that could filter out all the questions that hung unspoken between them. "We got divorced."

Divorced. The word sounded bitter on his tongue, a word too harsh, too sad to ever come from those lips of his. Robin reached for his hand again, catching the cuff of his shirt. "I want to know how we got from what we were when we were together, to this. We both know Maurice, and he thought we didn't know each other. We were married, Barney. Married. We promised to spend the rest of our lives with each other and then we didn't."

Three precise lines creased Barney's brow, deeper now than Robin remembered, his mouth tilting up at the corners by the smallest degree. "Are you sure this is what you want? This could be our only shot at giving these people something to talk about for the rest of their lives. We can talk tomorrow."

Robin straightened her shoulders, her jaw set firm. "No, we can't. We could have fun tonight, but then one of us, probably me, would get scared and hop on the first flight leaving for anywhere that isn't here. It'll be another five years, maybe more, before we see each other again. Maybe never. If I never see you again, I want some answers."

"Then ask."

Okay. Ask. She could ask questions. That's why they paid her the big bucks. "Did you really leave me because the hotel didn't have wifi? Was your blog more important than us? Was living in New York more important? Just because the off ramp was there didn't mean you had to take it. Why did you?"

Barney's hand kneaded at his forehead, the music sounding to Robin now as though it came from miles and not feet away. Now that she'd asked, she didn't want to know, but she wouldn't take back a single word. A girl had to have some pride, and the journalist part of her insisted on committing to the questions she'd posed.

"I left," Barney responded, dumbstruck, "because I thought that would make you happy. That you wouldn't have to worry about some overgrown man-child staring forty in the face and still not having any idea what he was actually going to do with his life. I thought that if I couldn't figure out my own life, I could make yours better."

"It's not better." The words leapt out of their own accord.

Barney blinked and took half a step back as though the words had hit him with physical force. "I'm sorry. If I didn't make it better, I need to know – did I make it worse?"

She needed no time to think about her response. "Yeah, Barney, you did. You made it worse. I kept waiting for you to walk back in through that door, and every hour, every day, you didn't, part of me died. Then you didn't meet me in Beijing and your stuff was gone from the apartment and the papers, and," she swallowed, casting a furtive glance to the dance floor. Wrong choice, Sherbatsky.

The rapid flash of emotions across his face went too fast for Robin to name them all. Sorrow. Regret. Concern. Bewilderment. Desperation. He was the first to break eye contact and the first to resume it. "I don't know what to say to that. Guess I really was bad for you after all, whether I was there with you or not." Shaking fingers fussed with the knot of his tie. "Go find Maurice and I'll," paused, "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"No," she said, the surety of what she wanted flooding her heart, her soul and her entire being. She wanted this man, this time, this place, this moment, to wipe out the greatest mistake she had ever made, and the strength of that desire wiped away all the fear in one sweep. "It's not okay. Barney Stinson, you are the love of my life, and if I were to walk away from you tonight, or let you walk away from me, I would never forgive myself." She dropped to one knee and grasped Barney's hand. It looked bare without his wedding ring – her wedding ring. Indecently naked. "Will you marry me? I don't have a ring to give you right now, but…"

Barney didn't let her finish. "I do." With his free hand, he reaches into his suit pocket and withdrew the very same ring Robin put on his finger all those years ago, the ring she thought she'd never see again.

She blinked. "Wait, is that…"

Barney's lips tilted into a sad, little-boy smile. "I wear it sometimes when I travel. Keeps me from getting trampled to death by hot foreign babes. He swallowed. "Do you," he paused, "do you really mean that? You really want to be married to me? We just re-met. We practically are strangers."

"I really do, and we could never be strangers. Only no off-ramps this time. Whatever problems we have, we'll work them out."

"No off-ramps," Barney agreed. "This time, it's for life, because living without you is not anything close to living. You, Robin Sherbatsky, put the 'awe' in awesome. Without you, I'm only 'some.'"

"You're an idiot."

"For you, always." Barney started to put his ring back on, but Robin protested.

"Stop."

The flush of joy drained from his face, leaving him pale and stricken once more. "Stop?"