Barney is 99% certain that the woman standing at the bar is the one Ted was obsessing over two weeks ago. Same shiny brown hair, same rocking body, same expression that just screams of someone who likes it dirty.

That 1% of doubt is only due to the circumstances. He hasn't seen her since she and Ted went their separate ways, and he assumed they were avoiding each other. Hanging out at MacLaren's is not exactly the best way to avoid Ted Mosby.

He's been working on this dilemma for a good ten minutes, eyes tracking her movements from across the room, when he realizes it shouldn't matter that much. Knowing who she is won't do any good. He can't go home with her; that would be a betrayal against his bro. Beyond that, he has nothing to gain, and he should be more focused on the bottle blonde by the jukebox or the booth full of easy college girls. Still, the curiosity is there. She has a draw about her, and he can see why Ted picked her out of the crowd that night.

Finally, he shrugs and decides to go for it, downing the last of his drink and striding up to her as casually as possible. It's a slow night anyway. He considers a few opening lines. An old standby could be fun. A hundred dollars says when you turn around… is always a good one. He even considers starting with I think I'm in love with you just for the reaction, but when he gets there, all he says is, "Hey, are you the chick from Metro News 1?"

She turns to look at him, eyes widening in surprise, and she gives him a once over. "You watch Metro News 1?" she asks disbelievingly. He figures he doesn't really fit her standard demographic.

"No, not at all," Barney says, and pauses before adding, "I'm friends with Ted."

Her eyes widen again, in recognition now. "Oh! You're the 'haaaave you met Ted?' guy."

He grins. "Well, by day I usually go by Barney," he replies, holding out his hand, "but 'check out that guy in the awesome suit' works, too."

She laughs a little as she shakes his hand. "Yeah, I think I'll go with that first one," she remarks. She pulls her hand back with a smile and says, "I'm Robin."

He knows what her name is. Between Ted's whining and staring at her business card and Marshall's outburst at the third successive party, Barney will probably never forget the name Robin Scherbatsky. Even if he's not sure he can spell it. He shifts a little closer so that he can lean against the bar.

She unconsciously mimics him and rests her elbow beside his. "So, what brings you here on a Wednesday night?" she asks.

He shrugs. "I hang out here a lot. We all do, including Ted. So if you guys are avoiding each other, this isn't the best place to do it."

Her smile fades, and she sighs. "Yeah, I know, but I just wanted a quiet drink and didn't feel like getting lost looking for a decent bar. MacLaren's is the best place I've found."

Barney nods. "Of course it is." He taps a finger against the bar for a few seconds in thought, and then he grabs a napkin and pulls a pen out of his pocket to start scribbling something on it. When he's finished, he slides the napkin over to Robin. "Here," he says, "This is a bar near my apartment. It's no MacLaren's, but Ted never goes there, and it's a decent place to get a drink." He thinks of why she and Ted didn't pursue anything in the first place and adds, "Good place for a hookup, too. Attractive crowd, if you know what I mean." He gives the entire room a dramatic sweep and shakes his head sadly.

Robin looks down at the napkin and smirks. "What, having trouble picking up a date tonight?"

He scoffs. "Please. Barney Stinson does not have trouble picking up anybody."

"Right, and that's why you're talking to the off-limits 'girl who dumped your friend' instead of the very available 'girl celebrating her 21st birthday alone' across the bar. How many times have you struck out tonight?"

Barney winces, but it's hard to be offended when you're impressed by how well a practical stranger managed to read you. He waggles a finger at her. "You're good, Scherbatsky," he admits, "but it's just because the pickings are slim here. Deal me a better hand, and you'll see me work my magic."

"Your magic, huh?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

His mouth goes a little dry for some reason. He swallows before replying, "Careful with that challenge. I'll accept it."

"I wasn't challenging you," she laughs, glancing at the clock on the wall, "and as much as I'd like to see it, I should be heading home. They're sending me to report on a cat who can eat with chopsticks tomorrow."

Barney's face falls, but he recovers quickly. "Well, if it's for something that important, I guess I can save the demonstration for later," he says.

She laughs again, picks up the napkin covered in his neat handwriting, and holds it up. "Near your place, huh?" she asks. "I'll probably see you there. Then you can work your magic for me." She tucks it in her pocket, gives him a vaguely suggestive smile, and strolls out the door.

Barney stares after her until she's gone. His heart is beating in a weird, fluttery way and he's grinning the same stupid grin Ted was two weeks ago. He thinks approaching her may have been a bad idea.

There is most definitely a cat eating with chopsticks on the TV above the bar right now. Barney is staring avidly at it and slowly sipping his drink, even if no one else in the room seems to share his morbid fascination. The grainy home video clip with the voiceover ends, and reporter Robin Scherbatsky introduces the cat's owner and begins an interview that quickly reveals the mental instability required to be the kind of person who teaches your cat to eat at the table. Barney smirks as Robin's reporter smile becomes more and more forced and her discomfort more and more apparent. Finally, she utters a hasty back to you and the camera cuts to the news studio, where the surprised lead anchor is in the middle of eating a sandwich.

Barney laughs in disbelief. Why has he never watched Metro News 1 before? This is comedy gold. He's disappointed when the broadcast ends and a game he has no money riding on comes on instead.

He is still sitting at the bar and idly watching the TV about an hour later when a voice right behind him says, "Enjoying the game?"

Barney jumps, mentally curses himself for doing so, and then turns around to grin a greeting at Robin Scherbatsky, who is still dressed in the semi-professional newscaster style. "Actually, I was just wondering which team Mittens the Chopsticks Cat would root for," he says.

Robin smiles. It's a good smile, spontaneous and simultaneously pleased and embarrassed. "You saw my groundbreaking news report?" she drawls.

He gestures over his shoulder. "TV had your station on."

"Isn't that lucky?" she says, nodding. She slides onto the stool next to him and turns around to look out over the rest of the patrons. "So this is your bar with the attractive crowd, huh? Is it a good enough night for your magic to work?"

Barney shakes his head, unwilling to let go of the topic of her news show. "Forget that. I've got a better idea," he says. "Let's find out how much money it would take to get you saying dirty words on the evening news."

She laughs and rolls her eyes. "You're not going to get out of the demonstration you promised me that easily."

"I'm serious," he says, pulling out his wallet and thumbing through the cash. He waves a bill in her face. "Let's start small. How's fifty dollars for saying…booger? Or nipple?" He tilts his head, trying to decide which is better.

Her eyes widen as the fifty dollar bill passes her face. "Oh my God, what do you do for a living that you can throw around money like that?"

He laughs. "Please."

She follows the fifty as it comes to land on the bar under two of his fingers. She blinks and shakes her head. "I'm not going to say booger on the news. Or nipple. I'm a journalist. I have to be professional."

Barney snorts. "Yeah, I'm sure whether Mittens prefers Szechuan Garden or The Golden Dragon rates very high in the field of professional journalism."

"I'm on the verge of getting better stories, okay?" Robin protests, glaring at him.

Barney leans forward with a slow smirk that sends a spike of dread through her. He pulls another fifty out of his wallet and lays it out on the bar. "One hundred dollars," he offers confidently. "Only now, it'll be for saying penis."

Robin stares down at the money and bites her lip. She closes her eyes, leans back, and waves her hand. "No, no," she says firmly, "I'm not doing it."

With an exaggeratedly disappointed look, Barney slides the money back into his wallet. "The offer stays open for the week," he tells her. "Think about it."

She shakes her head and says no a few more times for emphasis, but Barney starts to TiVo her news segments anyway. He is rewarded three days later, when a clearly frustrated reporter puts an interesting spin on a story centering around a talented local pianist.

Barney hands over two fifty dollar bills to a shamefaced Robin with a delicious grin. "I think this could be the start of something legendary," he says.

"Why are you dressed like a penguin?"

"I was trying to prove a point to Ted."

"Was the point that penguins can't drink?"

"No, it was that you shouldn't sit around on the roof waiting for a fantasy pumpkin on an awesome night like Halloween."

She doesn't ask. "Okay, but I'm not holding your scotch for you while you drink, Flippers."

Barney looks down at the fingerlessness of his costume's gloves. He squeezes out of the booth and starts pulling at the collar, and before Robin can fully register what is happening, Barney is sitting back down across from her in boxers and an undershirt, the costume shoved unceremoniously under the table. A woman passes by their table and gives him a strange look. Barney just responds with a wink and a nod.

Robin rolls her eyes and tries not to smile. "Well, I might've had better luck sitting on a rooftop tonight," she sighs.

Barney turns his attention back to Robin. "What happened?" he asks.

"I've been seeing this guy, and he wanted me to do all these cheesy coupley things like share dessert and finish sentences and wear stupid costumes." She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. Halloween is lame anyway."

"Okay, you're right about one thing. That guy sounds like a loser." Barney lifts his index finger, preparing to impart some important knowledge. "However, Halloween is awesome. It's one of the best holidays of the year. And as a hot chick, you're missing out on a great many wonderful and slutty costumes. And I'm not just saying that because I want to see you in one."

"Yes, you are."

"Okay, fine. I may be slightly biased," he admits with a dismissive hand wave, "but the point stands. Don one of those on Halloween with your body? You could pick up a hundred dudes with absolutely no interest in sharing your dessert. At least not the one that comes in a bowl. What up?" He holds up a hand with a huge grin.

Robin laughs and reaches across the table to slap her palm against his. "Alright, maybe Halloween could have its good points," she says, and as Barney opens his mouth to speak again, she adds, "I'm still not going to put on a slutty costume tonight."

He pouts. "Mean."

Robin grabs her drink and slides into the booth with a loud sigh. "Well, this New Year's Eve sucked."

Barney raises an eyebrow and gives her a wry look. "You too?" he asks over the rim of his glass.

"Yeah," she replies, smiling a little. She's really glad he happened to be here. "What happened to yours?"

"Eh." He shrugged. "Ted tried too hard to make New Year's Eve amazing, we all got separated for a while, Lily nearly got shot, my awesome CD got stolen, and then we rang in the New Year from the back of a limo stuck in city traffic. The usual."

"You were in a limo?"

"Yeah, that part was okay," he admitted with a grin. Really, it hadn't been that bad. It was a little crazy, but they all came together at the end, drank champagne, and counted down the last seconds of the year. But something just felt off, like there was a piece missing. When Robin walked into the bar, he thinks he might have felt it slot into place. "So, what went wrong with your night?" he asks.

"Derek stood me up."

"The billionaire?"

"Hundred millionaire," she corrects automatically. "He was supposed to meet me, but he got stuck at work. I rang in the New Year with Dick Clark and Ryan Seacrest instead."

Barney winces. "That's rough."

Robin nods. "I know it's not really his fault, but it was supposed to be a nice night. I guess I got my hopes up."

Barney watches her bite her lip and stare down at her near-empty glass. The disappointment in her face is killing him, and it shouldn't be. He wants to bring her into their group. He wants her to hang out with Lily and Marshall and Ted, and he wants her not to be friendless in the city except for when they happen to be in the same bar on the same night. He wants to not feel so weird about holding onto this strange thing they have that the group doesn't know about. Mostly, he wants her to stop looking disappointed right now. He runs his fingernail along a groove in the surface of the table for several seconds and loudly announces, "Okay, here's what we're going to do."

Robin looks up, startled. "Huh?"

Barney leans forward conspiratorially. "I'm going to fix New Year's for both of us, because I'm going to put all my skill into picking up that hot brunette by the jukebox."

Robin looks where he is pointing and then looks back skeptically. "How is this going to help, exactly?"

"Well, for me, I get to go home with said hot brunette by the jukebox," he elaborates, "and for you, you finally get to see me work my magic."

"I've seen you pick up women in bars before, Barney."

"Yeah, but that was small time. Easy pickings. I'm going to throw all my charm and energy into this one. You just watch. It'll be legendary."

Before she can say anything else, Barney is out of his seat and sauntering over toward his target. Really sauntering. When he gets there, he leans lightly against the wall in front of the girl and introduces himself. Robin can't hear anything from where she's sitting, but she can tell he wasn't kidding about turning on the charm. His grin is carefully perfect, wide and disarming. It's not his natural grin, which is lopsided and more than a little mischievous, raising wrinkles around his eyes. He's standing just at the edge of comfortable personal space, enough to be familiar without being creepy, and he hardly ever breaks eye contact. It's all perfectly calculated, and she can only imagine what he's saying.

She watches him work his magic. Within mere minutes, he's subtly edged farther into the girl's personal space and is touching her in light, easy ways, fingers brushing against her arm. Eventually, they move to the bar, presumably after Barney has offered to buy her a drink. As they pass her table, Barney throws Robin a wink.

She rolls her eyes out of habit, but she has to admit it. She's impressed. Ten minutes after meeting him, Robin is sure that girl will go home with him. Poor thing.

Robin is getting ready to leave at about the same time Barney is sealing the deal. She looks down to find the money to pay for her drinks when, to her surprise, Barney comes back over to her and says, "Hey."

She looks up and glances quickly toward the bar. The girl is still there, watching Barney talk to her. "Barney, what…?" Robin starts to say.

He swiftly leans down and presses a kiss to her mouth. "Happy New Year," he says, clinking his glass against her empty one sitting on the table. He nods and walks back over to the girl, who despite having watched this, wraps her arms around his elbow and walks out the door with him, giggling all the way.

Robin gapes silently for several seconds. Then she laughs and shakes her head. Barney certainly could work his magic.

Barney has been spending more and more time at their bar lately, and Robin's not sure why. (She's also not sure when she started to think of it as their bar, but that's a problem for another time.) He walks in at odd hours of the day with an unidentifiable look on his face, and when he catches sight of her, he swings suddenly into over-the-top boisterous mode, talking loudly and gesticulating wildly. She thinks this may be what depression looks like on him.

He comes bounding in on a Tuesday, points at her from across the room, and shouts, "Robin Scherbatsky, suit up!"

She waits until he's much closer before saying, "Um, why?"

"Because I have a legendary night planned, and I need a bro. With Father Ted stuck in Sister Victoria's sexless nunnery, you have the once in a lifetime opportunity to be said bro."

"Isn't 'sexless' implied in the word 'nunnery'?" she asks.

"Come on, Scherbatsky, I need an answer," he whines, sounding a bit desperate.

"Okay," she says quickly, because Barney looks about on the verge puppy dog eyes, and she's not sure she can handle that. She shrugs. "Why not? I'm game."

His grin in response is almost blinding.

Within the hour, they are across town in Barney's favorite cigar bar. A suited up Robin leans back in her chair and talks easily about scotch and cigars, smoke curling out from between her lips and up toward the ceiling, and Barney thinks she may just be one of the most awesome people he's ever met. Bearing this in mind, he makes a change of plans and suggests another stop in their legendary night, being vague and secretive. He tells her to wear good sneakers, and she asks how many costume changes this is going to require.

Robin is a natural at laser tag. Halfway through the game, she tackles Barney out of the way of enemy fire and takes her sweet time getting off of him afterward. Barney thinks the night may turn out even better than expected. He buys her a victory pretzel, heavy on the cheese sauce. "But we lost," she points out, and he just shrugs. They take their 'victory' party back to their bar, and Robin starts talking about Battleship. They bring up strategy and cheating and prowess, and her hand is on his knee. She makes the invitation casual, and they leave together.

At her apartment, Robin walks through the door and abruptly turns around, making Barney stop in his tracks nearly nose to nose with her. "Ready to play Battleship?" she asks in a low voice.

Barney smiles slowly. "Is Battleship a code for something else?"

Her hand slides between his jacket and his shirt, fingers pressing against his side. "It could be," she says.

Barney nods and dips his head imperceptibly. "Are you…?"

She roughly pulls him down those last few inches and kisses him.

Barney wakes up first, with the sun filtering through the curtains and onto his face. He throws an arm over his eyes and groans in protest, then drops it and turns his head to see what time it is. He can see the red glow of the alarm clock over the curve of Robin's shoulder, but before he can really register what the numbers mean, he gets distracted by the rest of the body attached to that shoulder.

She is facing him, which he wasn't expecting for some reason. His heart skips a beat at the realization, and he blames it on panic because it's the least scary alternative. He gets over it and reaches out, pushing her hair away from her eyes, brushing his knuckles across her cheek. She scrunches up her face when he does this, unconsciously shakes her head and rolls over.

Barney pulls back as she moves and then lets his fingers fall gently on her shoulder. He traces a path down her arm and along her side to her waist, dips into the small of her back and follows the easy curve of her spine back up a few inches. His thumb is lingering over a birthmark on her hip when Barney abruptly jerks his hand away.

He stares at the ceiling for a while and lets out a harsh sigh before getting up and going about the task of collecting his clothes. The Chihuahua has chosen his shirt as a convenient place to curl up for the night, and he has to nudge the dog a few times before it gets up and struts away with an air of great offense. Barney slips on his shoes and carefully makes his way to the bedroom door.

A collar jingles, and he turns around to see the big Dalmatian has woken up and is staring at him. Barney stares back and reaches a hand toward the door. The dog growls as soon as he touches the handle. He moves away from the door and the dog stops. Barney spreads his arms in a questioning gesture. "What?" he whispers. "I'm trying not to wake her up." The Dalmatian just growls again, a little louder, and Barney sighs. "Fine."

He walks back to the bed, where Robin's hair is in her face again. He tucks it behind her ear, hesitates, and gently shakes her shoulder. She mumbles something incoherent and blearily opens her eyes to look at him. She lifts her head from the pillow. "Hm?"

"I'm leaving," Barney says, "but not in a 'one night stand, never call you again'way. Just in a 'I've really got to leave' way."

She smiles sleepily and lets her head drop. "Whatever, Barney," she yawns. "Just make sure the door's locked when you go." She stretches and rolls over, pulling the covers up to her chin.

Barney backs up and looks at the Dalmatian before trying the door again. "Happy?" he asks. The dog wags its tail.

The bedroom door clicks quietly shut behind him, and Barney makes his way to the other end of the apartment. He takes his coat off the hook and shrugs it on, preparing to leave, when something catches his eye. He strides back across the room to look at Robin's mantle. It's mostly candles and knick-knacks, traveling souvenirs. There are some photos: a few of a younger looking Robin, a few of a little girl who shares many of Robin's features, several of her dogs, and one of a stern older man which is tucked behind a tall statue.

At the very center, resting just below the colorful painting on the wall above, is a very familiar blue French Horn. Barney clenches his jaw and walks swiftly out of the apartment.