Fic: Walls
Title: Walls
Author: yogurtpo3
Word Count: 813
Rating: G
Summary: Response fic to prompt "Robin's with Barney when they accidentally run into his father. She tries to comfort him." posted by klutzy_girl
They could never have anticipated this, in a way you could never anticipate when rain turns into hail until you begin to feel the sting of pain hit your skin, the once harmless drops now fierce and biting. It was one of those moments when life just suddenly decides to throw everything at you and then shimmer it away faster than a flash of light, leaving nothing but a distinct aftertaste that meant nothing and everything at the same time. It had started out as a light-hearted fun-filled night, the two of them, buddies, bros, no feelings, no cares, just two peas in an awesomely protected pod where emotions were far and nothing could break through the shield they called sarcasm and awesomeness. Sure, they both knew the other's weaknesses, the cracks that were widening with every blow: breaking up, Sam Gibbs, Don, the museum, Jessica... until their walls were just a breeze away from tumbling down faster than Jericho, but they both built with practice, and tonight, they had been sure nothing was coming down.
Not for laser tag, cigar bars and a good game of Battleship for old times sake anyways.
Then he had appeared. Suited up and reeking of old money in the most traditional sense, seated at the fancy bar of the exclusive clubhouse they had decided to stumble into if only because they could (Barney somehow managed to connect up a membership).
"Jerome Whitaker," he had introduced himself, "But you can call me Jerry." The same confident smile, a sparkle in those familiar blue eyes that made Robin finally understand what Barney had meant when he had said "you do know" with such certainty back at the museum. Because right at that very moment, facing Jerome Whitaker face to face, she knew, and Barney knew, that they were speaking with Barney's father.
You never told me your father was...
Rich? Cultured? Obviously not too naive and poor to take responsibility for his own son.
She could see the struggle in his eyes, the cracks in his wall widening as he studied the man before him, words seemingly lost on his lips.
"B...Barney Stinson," he finally managed, and she saw it then also, the flash of hope, hope of dreams fulfilled, of belonging and love. But this wasn't Hollywood, and they were Barney and Robin, two individuals not meant to have a "happily ever after", so "Uncle Jerry", in all his fine glory, took one look at Barney Stinson, his very own son with the same sparkling blues eyes, merely nodded, and left.
And the walls came crumbling down.
They had left the clubhouse immediately, her dragging him away by the arm, hailing a cab to find them the closest bar they could get to. He had remained silent, even as she seated him down, ordered him a scotch, and pushed it into his hands.
"Fathers, who needs them," she toasted, roughly banging her scotch against his before drowning it down her throat, inwardly smiling as she saw him do the same. She reflected on those words, on her own father, the way he had brought her up to fulfill his empty dream of having a son.
At least he brought you up.
Barney's didn't.
She remembered the disappointment on his face, the way her heart clenched that day he caught her kissing her team mate, and finally realized once and for all, that she was a girl.
At least he cared.
Barney's didn't.
And she pondered all the times growing up, when she had wanted to change her name, because it was "Robin Charles Scherbatsky Jr", named after her very own father.
At least your father remembers your name.
Barney's apparently, didn't.
"Father issues. Hot," he had once commented after hearing her share her story. She never told him that out of everyone's sympathies, his reaction actually cheered her up, rebuilt her walls and made her feel awesome. She studied him now, fidgeting with his empty glass, eyes staring blankly down onto the table.
"Hey, let's go laser tagging," she suggested, taking his hand into hers, not worried about the implications, the reminders of moments when they were far more intimate with each other. Yet, somehow, she felt that she had never been as close to the true him than at this very moment in time.
"Bet you we can overtake their high score records board in one night," she prodded when he didn't answer her. Finally he looked up at her, and she could see the walls rebuilding, gluing back together piece by piece.
"Challenge accepted!" he grinned back at her, and they left, hand in hand.
True, they weren't meant to have a "happily ever after", fairytales are not meant to be true. But they had each other, Barney and Robin, masters of emotional wall repairs and rebuilding.
And together, they were awesome.
Author: yogurtpo3
Word Count: 813
Rating: G
Summary: Response fic to prompt "Robin's with Barney when they accidentally run into his father. She tries to comfort him." posted by klutzy_girl
They could never have anticipated this, in a way you could never anticipate when rain turns into hail until you begin to feel the sting of pain hit your skin, the once harmless drops now fierce and biting. It was one of those moments when life just suddenly decides to throw everything at you and then shimmer it away faster than a flash of light, leaving nothing but a distinct aftertaste that meant nothing and everything at the same time. It had started out as a light-hearted fun-filled night, the two of them, buddies, bros, no feelings, no cares, just two peas in an awesomely protected pod where emotions were far and nothing could break through the shield they called sarcasm and awesomeness. Sure, they both knew the other's weaknesses, the cracks that were widening with every blow: breaking up, Sam Gibbs, Don, the museum, Jessica... until their walls were just a breeze away from tumbling down faster than Jericho, but they both built with practice, and tonight, they had been sure nothing was coming down.
Not for laser tag, cigar bars and a good game of Battleship for old times sake anyways.
Then he had appeared. Suited up and reeking of old money in the most traditional sense, seated at the fancy bar of the exclusive clubhouse they had decided to stumble into if only because they could (Barney somehow managed to connect up a membership).
"Jerome Whitaker," he had introduced himself, "But you can call me Jerry." The same confident smile, a sparkle in those familiar blue eyes that made Robin finally understand what Barney had meant when he had said "you do know" with such certainty back at the museum. Because right at that very moment, facing Jerome Whitaker face to face, she knew, and Barney knew, that they were speaking with Barney's father.
You never told me your father was...
Rich? Cultured? Obviously not too naive and poor to take responsibility for his own son.
She could see the struggle in his eyes, the cracks in his wall widening as he studied the man before him, words seemingly lost on his lips.
"B...Barney Stinson," he finally managed, and she saw it then also, the flash of hope, hope of dreams fulfilled, of belonging and love. But this wasn't Hollywood, and they were Barney and Robin, two individuals not meant to have a "happily ever after", so "Uncle Jerry", in all his fine glory, took one look at Barney Stinson, his very own son with the same sparkling blues eyes, merely nodded, and left.
And the walls came crumbling down.
They had left the clubhouse immediately, her dragging him away by the arm, hailing a cab to find them the closest bar they could get to. He had remained silent, even as she seated him down, ordered him a scotch, and pushed it into his hands.
"Fathers, who needs them," she toasted, roughly banging her scotch against his before drowning it down her throat, inwardly smiling as she saw him do the same. She reflected on those words, on her own father, the way he had brought her up to fulfill his empty dream of having a son.
At least he brought you up.
Barney's didn't.
She remembered the disappointment on his face, the way her heart clenched that day he caught her kissing her team mate, and finally realized once and for all, that she was a girl.
At least he cared.
Barney's didn't.
And she pondered all the times growing up, when she had wanted to change her name, because it was "Robin Charles Scherbatsky Jr", named after her very own father.
At least your father remembers your name.
Barney's apparently, didn't.
"Father issues. Hot," he had once commented after hearing her share her story. She never told him that out of everyone's sympathies, his reaction actually cheered her up, rebuilt her walls and made her feel awesome. She studied him now, fidgeting with his empty glass, eyes staring blankly down onto the table.
"Hey, let's go laser tagging," she suggested, taking his hand into hers, not worried about the implications, the reminders of moments when they were far more intimate with each other. Yet, somehow, she felt that she had never been as close to the true him than at this very moment in time.
"Bet you we can overtake their high score records board in one night," she prodded when he didn't answer her. Finally he looked up at her, and she could see the walls rebuilding, gluing back together piece by piece.
"Challenge accepted!" he grinned back at her, and they left, hand in hand.
True, they weren't meant to have a "happily ever after", fairytales are not meant to be true. But they had each other, Barney and Robin, masters of emotional wall repairs and rebuilding.
And together, they were awesome.