Part 1

-- Sunday --

He moves inside her, slowly, because he feels her tremble and he knows how close she is. He stares into her eyes - cobalt blue eyes framed by long, dark lashes - and he lets something unfamiliar wash over him. He sinks into it, this feeling, this warmth flowing from his chest, through his torso, making it so, so hard to keep control.

She doesn't have to say "I love you" because he knows it; he sees it in every tiny change of expression, every hushed plea, every gasp. He's never had "I love you" sex before, not when the feeling's been mutual.

Finally she says his name, like a curse, like a prayer, and he loses the battle against himself, pounding into her until everything spills over at the edges and he's lost in a waterfall of agony and ecstasy because he's losing her, losing her and this will be their last time.

When he opens his eyes, he rolls off her before he has a chance to focus. He's up on his feet, turning his back, pants on, shirt buttoned, before she can say a word.

"Barney?"

She speaks so softly, but her words… there's a hint of the Canadian accent that always comes out when she's angry. She won't let him do this, she says. He told her he loved her, she says. Lily told her-

"Lily was wrong," is his empty retort. Oh, he told Lily that he loved Robin, yes. He'd opened up, just that one time, just enough to let in the pain through a chink in the armour he'd built so painstakingly since Shannon left him. That had been one in a very long line of mistakes.

This is another.

Why did he think that doing this had any hope in hell of making him feel better? That sex would solve anything? He looks over at the girl on the bed, at her long, long legs, her beautiful, upturned, trusting face, so full of love and betrayal.

Oh yes, he's in love with Robin.

But that's not Robin.

-- Three days earlier --

"Mr Stinson, do you understand our terms as previously agreed?"

Barney sighed. "Ms DeWitt," he said, leaning in. "Adelle… I wouldn't be here if I didn't." He steepled his fingers, leaning his elbows on the desk. "If your… 'active'… can do what you say she can do…?"

"She can. She will. She'll love you, in exactly the way you specified. Totally and unconditionally. She'll believe she's in love with you." Barney quirked an eyebrow and the Englishwoman nodded. "Everyone's a cynic," she said with a tiny smile, "until they experience our services first hand."

"The photo is… I'm impressed…" Barney held it lightly between his fingers. "She's very like her. Very…" He frowned slightly. He didn't really believe this woman's sales pitch. But if it were true, it would be worth every exorbitant cent. He handed over the banker's draft.

"It's nice doing business with you, Mr Stinson," she said, her eyes lighting up. That was one thing he did trust - this woman's mercenary soul. At least these people were professional. "She'll be with you in twenty four hours."

"Robin…" Barney said. They barely even asked him any questions. He'd just bought a girl, a slave, a… whatever she was, for forty eight hours. He could do what he liked with her. This… woman didn't seem to care at all, so long as no harm came to the girl. No physical harm.

Weird.

Expensive and weird.

But what did he have to lose? He'd tried everything else.

Barney shrugged. If nothing else, the sex would be great. "Okay…"

-- Sunday --

No physical harm, but he'd broken her heart.

Shit, what did he care? In a few hours she wouldn't ever remember him and all he'd remember was how she felt, physically, how her body had fit perfectly beneath his, the noises she made when she came.

Robin… But not Robin.

The resemblance was uncanny but not exact. There were a hundred tiny infinitesimal differences that made it hard to suspend his disbelief, even for just a weekend. In the end those differences had grated, adding up into one big ball of wrong… ness.

She was beautiful, feisty, difficult, fun, intelligent… She looked like Robin, she acted like Robin, she sounded like Robin, she had Robin's memories (how did they do that?) but she just wasn't Robin.

She hurt like Robin would have. Like Robin could have.

Like Robin never would.

Because Robin would never let him get this close to her again.

Because he'd fucked everything up. Forever and ever. Amen.

And he couldn't forget, that was the problem. He had to ret-con the situation, make it so he was the one who'd done the dumping; he was the one who'd tore out her heart.

She was crying - his not-Robin. She was crying and he felt it but it wasn't enough.

No, this wasn't enough.

He laughed nastily and slapped her on the rump.

This wasn't enough to heal him, to get closure, to help him recover from another devastating bout of feelings.

It wasn't ever going to have enough. But Barney had known that from the moment he'd walked into Ms DeWitt's office for the first time. He'd known that from the moment he'd first heard of the Dollhouse.

This girl, this faux-Robin, she wasn't the point.

He grinned, looping his tie around his neck.

Time for phase two.

*--*--*

Barney was surprised to find that faux-Robin had returned to a location very near the offices where he'd met Ms DeWitt. It wasn't hard to track her with the tiny chip stuck to her skin (he knew a guy) and he'd spent a day on his laptop trying to work out the best angle to infiltrate the place. It wrapped up with the tightest security package he'd ever seen. Thing was, as Barney knew well, it was always the back door that tripped you up.

So it was with the Dollhouse, and Topher Brink, who had a weakness for cigarettes. It was simple happenstance that the very person Barney needed to talk to was the very dude who snuck out for a smoke every few hours, hanging around outside the service entrance and puffing away like a goddamn chimney. It was easy after that, easy to follow him to a late bar, easy to buy him a drink, easy to charm him.

Easy to drop the bomb.

The difficult thing was preventing the guy from running a mile.

"I don't want anything from you," Barney said. "Nothing I can't pay for, anyways."

Topher backed away.

"I'll pay you the same as I paid for the active - just you, not the Dollhouse, if you'll take this one thing out of my brain."

"What?" This stopped the guy in his tracks.

Barney grinned. Jesus, were they all that easily bought? "Can you do that? Take just one thing? Wipe me the way you wipe the actives?"

"It depends what it is," Topher said, sitting back down next to him. "Jesus, I shouldn't even be talking to you!"

"I want to forget something."

"A memory? I guess so." Topher frowned, his eyes unfocussing in a way that all geeks do when you give them a cool problem to solve. Barney had seen that look enough times at work.

"Nope. A feeling." He clarified.

Topher grinned. "Actually, that's easier. Emotions are really easy to map and extract. Memories are harder. It's all to do with-"

Barney cut him off before he launched into a full-blown nerd-out. "Okay, that's great then, dude. Same price, wipe the emotion, job done. No one can know? This is strictly off the books."

He saw Topher consider it, saw him looking towards the door. Barney didn't move, he knew he'd already reeled in his fish.

"That's a lot of money," Topher said. "How do I know you're good for it?"

Barney laughed. "Please."

Topher shrugged. "So long as you pay in advance, what do I care?" He tilted his head. "What do you want to forget so badly? What emotion do you want me to wipe?"

Barney swallowed because it sounded so stupid, so girly, so lame. Then he said it.

"Love."