Instructions for dancing

"But what about Don?"

The words get stuck in Barney's throat when Lily balls him out for being an insensitive jerk over Robin. The words bubble up again, when Robin herself tells him that she feels like she was just a number to him, just another one of his bimbos.

All this time, Barney had though it was understood. He thought that his friends knew him and Robin well enough to see that they were both hurting, both bleeding after the breakup. He'd dealt with his half of the pain with his usual aplomb - he'd started running, speeding up, womanizing harder, drinking faster, longer, accelerating until he could leave the ache in his heart far behind him.

Robin had been silently stoic, walking out of the room when the emotion had gotten too much for her.

He'd thought it was understood. He'd thought everybody understood.

It came as somewhat of a shock to him that it was Robin that had cracked first, that she'd been the one to explicitly reveal the tatters of her heart. It jolted him that Lily and Marshall and even Ted thought he hadn't noticed her absences, her locked-in expression. Of course he'd noticed.

But hadn't any of them noticed, how as soon as Robin had met her new guy, as soon as she'd met Don, she'd just lit up every time she talked about him? Sure she'd ranted and raved, she'd nit-picked and whined, but there was no denying the instant attraction she'd had to the dude.

An attraction she'd never really had for Barney.

And Barney kind of thought his friends had picked up on it - how every time Robin mentioned Don, Barney had done something wild and insane as though he were subconsciously vying for their attention. As though he were trying (in vain) to get Robin to notice him again.

It was hard to carry around that pain for so long without it becoming a part of him. It was hard not to repeat the coping mechanism he'd learned from Shannon.

It was hard not to hate Robin.

It was even more difficult than with Shannon because with Robin he'd cherished the secret dream of her for a year, even longer if he was entirely truthful to himself. Robin had kept the light of hope flickering inside him. The hope that he could love again, could feel anything for a chick aside from the physical.

It's harder this time because that hope has now been snuffed out completely. There's an emptiness inside him now and he thought that everybody could see it. He though it must be so obvious.

Even Ted, who usually sees through his bullshit so easily, even Ted's missed it.

Sure, they all rallied around Robin. Sure, even he rallied around Robin. Robin's story was sympathetic, she'd felt wronged by him.

But what about her? What about Robin dragging Don into every conversation, every situation, even into their hallowed bar? God, what about Don?

After Robin sings her triumphant "Bang bang bangity" song, they all go down for dinner at MacLaren's and, because they order rowdily and cheerfully, none of them notice the island of quiet in their midst. None of them notice that Barney's smile falters, that his voice doesn't rise up to meet theirs. None of them see what they don't want to see.

So Barney stamps down his jealousy and the fierce hurt he feels just to look at Robin. He tells himself that giving her and Don the super-date was a good thing, a pure thing, a thing born out of true Bro-ship.

But he doesn't fool himself into thinking that a single act of kindness will get him a happy ending. He's under no illusion that he'll win the girl, that he'll get the last dance. Whatever it is that gets you all that stuff, he doesn't think he's been given the instructions. There's a not-so-secret part of him that wishes he could have what Robin has, what Ted will have, what Lily and Marshall have perfected.

He's just a little sad that none of his friends seem to notice.