2014.
Robin comes down with this nasty virus that's been passing its way through the studio.. Like dominos, people have been getting it and calling out sick: Patrice was out on Tuesday, so she's 99% sure that this, as with most other things, is her fault. It's a Thursday when Robin wakes up clammy and feverish and with a heaving stomach, so she goes ahead and calls out for the day. Then, energy spent, she collapses back into bed and kind of stares into space for a while.
"You look awful," Barney reports, coming out of the bathroom. She makes a sort of groan that means don't I know it, and he wanders away again. Time is kinda slippy and she wants to go back to sleep. He does pop back in a while later, now fully dressed. "Seriously, you look super gross." He puts a mug of something awful-smelling on her nightstand.
"You sure know how to make a girl feel special," she mutters, eyeing the mug. It's probably some of his nasty ginseng tea shit. She doesn't know if it's a holdover from his hippie days or what, but he loves anti-oxidant drinks.
"Yeah," he says happily. She rolls onto her side and watches him check his tie, hold up one a slightly different shade of red for comparison. "Okay," he says, going with the one he's already wearing. "I'm going to work, see ya."
"Hold up," she groans when he's halfway out of the bedroom.
He looks confused.
"No — 'do you need anything, Robin?' No, 'are you feeling okay, my dear wife?'"
"Umm, obviously you feel like crap," Barney says. "I brought you tea. I'm gonna be late." He sighs like it's a burden: "I can open the window if you want."
"Just go to work," she says, closing her eyes.
"'kay, bye!" He's gone before she can even bring herself to open them again.
Robin spends her day sleeping, trying to sleep, barfing, sleeping again, taking about three sips of the tea, and then barfing some more. She starts to feel a little better from the afternoon, probably because there's nothing left of her to barf up, and dozes with the bedroom TV on low for background noise.
Barney comes home a little bit after dark; she knows because he pops his head into the room. "Are you still sick?" He comes over to the bed and sits on the edge, and she wonders if he's going to feel her forehead. Instead, he sniggers. "Oooh, you look awful."
"Oh, shut up," she says.
"Seriously. Remember the time you didn't bathe for like a month and ate Cheetos out of your hair? That's how awful you look. Remember the time you got really intense at the gym? That's —"
"Seriously, shut it," she says with a tired sort of anger, and he clamps his mouth shut. "God, you don't have a single nurturing bone in your body, do you?"
He opens his mouth, closes it. "You don't like that stuff," he says.
"Just let me sleep," she says.
She feels him get up off the bed without another word.
He leaves her alone for a while. He doesn't come into their room at all, in fact, even to sleep himself. She half worries she hurt his feelings, but mostly feels like he deserves it: anyway, it's a lot easier to get some rest without him trying to chat or tell her how gross she is.
Probably around midnight, Robin actually starts to feel a little hungry, which is a good sign. She feels around, but there's no one else in bed with her. Good riddance. She staggers dizzily out of bed, grabs the cold mug of tea, and gropes her way dizzily towards the kitchen. She's not sure they have crackers, but they might have some bread.
The lights are all on in the living room, and she smells and hears something in the same moment. She peeks around the corner: Barney is in the kitchen. Cooking. And talking on the phone. "Okay, but how do I know when the vegetables are tender?" A second later: "I don't know, it's been like half an hour." And then: "No way, I'm not touching raw meat with my hands, unless it's — no, don't hang up! I know it's late, c'mon, Lil, you gotta walk me through this! So I add the chicken to everything, then…"
"Barn?" Robin questions, and is immensely gratified to see him jump like a foot in the air.
He hangs up on Lily without a word of explanation, slams his phone on the counter, and affects a cool pose. "Oh, hey Robin," he says, his voice dropping down a full octave. He straightens his tie while lounging nonchalantly against the island, a soup ladle in one hand.
"Were you calling Lily at eleven thirty at night so she could teach you how to make soup?" Robin asks, pretty sure the answer is yes, going by the pot on the stove.
"No," he says, laughing unconvincingly.
She leans against the wall with her arms crossed and fights a smile.
"Hey, you're not in bed," he says, turning the stove off. "You're feeling better!"
"A little," she says. She waits for him to comment on her stringy hair, clammy face, tee-shirt and sweats combination, but he doesn't, this time. "I'm kinda hungry."
"I have some ch… vegetable soup," Barney says, face lighting up. "Yeah, I made it. From scratch. It ain't a thing." He snorts. "Hah, you said I didn't know how to take care of people."
"What time did you get home from work?" Robin asks, sitting on one of the stools and setting her mug down.
"Uh, seven?"
"It took you four hours to go grocery shopping and get Lily to walk you through a soup recipe?"
Barney clearly has no answer for her (because the answer is obviously yes), and he looks around desperately for something else to say, spots her mug. "Robin! You didn't even drink your tea! That's why you're still sick! This soup is wasted on you," he sniffs, splashing some into a bowl and onto the counter. "Jeez, and you say I don't know how to take care of people."
"Oh, shut up, moron," she says, smiling. The soup has no chicken or noodles, just carrots, celery, and potatoes in a broth, but somehow, it still makes her feel better going down.
The following Monday, Robin wakes up early, stretches. Barney's still huddled up on his side of the bed, so she prods his shoulder. "Rise and shine, champ," she says, reaching over to the nightstand to put on her rings and check her phone.
He rolls over a little, groans. "Robin," he whines. "I'm sick." He flings his arm over his face dramatically, but he really does look clammy and tired.
"Aww," she says, looking through her e-mail.
"Take care of me," he whines, reaching for her. "I need ice cream."
"Aww," Robin says, slipping out of his weak, sickly grasp and out of the bed. "Sorry, baby, I have work." She tries to keep a straight face as he glowers up at her. "Be a good boy and stay in bed," she says. "Maybe Lily can make you some soup."