All I really want to do is love you.
A kind much closer than friends use.
But I still can't say it after all we've been through.

She watches him. Flirt calmly with every woman that comes in the bar hot enough to catch his eye. It's a reflex for him. A rejection doesn't even faze his speed.

Sometimes she wonders why she ever thought he'd changed.

And the worst part is that she was naive enough to think he'd changed for her. Barney Stinson, she realizes, will never change. He'll be chasing skirts until the day he dies.

Their entire relationship was built on that lie. She's fooled herself, he fooled her, they fooled everyone into thinking they could actually work. For six months. And she would have done anything to make them work, anything for him. She just isn't sure he would've been that dedicated.

He comes around, still on high with his latest batch of phone numbers, and grins. It's the two of them, alone. She refuses to meet his eye.

'Guess how many I've gotten,' he says proudly, showering the pieces of paper on the table. 'Go on. It's a double digit.'

'Barney, I honestly don't care.'

'Three guesses. I'll give you a hint.'

'Look, I'm tired. Can we do this another—'

'It's an odd number. There.'

'I don't care.'

She sighs, biting her lip. It's an awkward silence. He clears his throat and shoves the papers back into his suit pocket quietly, mumbling an apology.

'It was thirteen,' he tells her. She rolls her eyes. Like she'd wanted to know. He's probably going to sleep with every one of them, the way he's been lately.

'I'm bailing. I'm kind of tired. . .from work. Yeah. See you tomorrow,' she says quickly, standing up, nearly knocking over her beer.

'I'll call you a cab.'

'No need.'

'You sure? I'm on my way out too.'

Robin shrugs. She knows he's trying, can see the effort on his part, the anxiety in his eyes. But right now, she honestly just wants to rip his blonde head off for being such a jerk. They leave together anyway.

A world of frost between them.

Of course she blames him for being so damn insensitive. He's practically been showing off his conquests, parading all these young girls, winning the break-up by landslides. Yes. She hasn't been strong enough to go out there. You broke my heart, she wants to tell him. But it isn't the type of thing Robin Scherbatsky—gun and hockey aficionado—would ever openly admit to.

So she doesn't. The words build up in her and she buries them down. It's what she does best.

'Here's one,' he announces, flagging the cab down. He opens the door for her. Moody, she slides inside, the smell of greasy fries overwhelming her.

'You hungry?' he asks, as if reading her expression. 'I noticed you haven't had dinner. We could stop by that diner around the corner.'

The diner. The one they'd spent every night in, the one she's been openly avoiding and secretly revisiting by herself. A lot of memories there, and she can't risk it tonight. She shakes her head.

'I'm not hungry. But thanks anyway.'

'Sure.'

'I'm fine, Barney.'

His eyes still on her. She feels impatient, says nothing, and gives the driver her address.

'Step on it,' she adds, glancing at Barney. She can't stand this.

How long has it been? Almost two months now? She shouldn't still be angry or hung up on him, not this way, she's had her ten thousand drinks, Ted wasn't this difficult, Ted wasn't such a show-off. . .Her thoughts trail, dragging themselves. Why is it so hard? Proximity? Need for closure? It was a mutual break-up, after all.

He doesn't seem to have any trouble at all. And she envies him for it.

'Something wrong?' he asks, noticing her glance at him.

'Nothing.' Lie.

God. It really gnaws at her when he acts this way, as if at any minute, she could break into a million pieces. She isn't that fragile.

Or maybe she is.

Suddenly the cab screeches into a halt. They launch forward, colliding into each other(he catches her and she pulls back). She's about to launch into a tirade against the driver, when she sees what's wrong.

And Robin Scherbatsky's speechless.

'What's wro—?' Barney stops. 'What the hell is this?'

A masked man with a gun had stopped them on this empty street. He pokes his head through the window, only blue eyes visible.

'Barney Stinson.' It isn't a question at all. Eyes shift to her. 'And his friend. Huh. That's convenient.'

'Look, I don't know who you are, but here's my wallet.' Barney throws it at the man. 'Now, leave.'

He laughs. 'I don't need this.'

'Then, what do you want?'

'You're coming with me. The girl too.'

'What? Absolutely not. Let her go.'

'You don't exactly have a choice here, Stinson. Get out of the car, hands up. Same goes for your friend.'

Robin does as told, too terrified to argue. It feels like a joke. A scam. She meets Barney's dead serious eyes as they stand in the rain, a gun pointed at them. Funny. She's always been on the other end.

'This will hurt,' the man says, moving forward.

He is the very last thing she sees before the lights go out. The sounds blur into each other. Then, it's just darkness.

XXX

The room is sparse, dark, dirty and wet. They're both handcuffed to the same pipe too. All this comes to mind with her head still half-swimming, still aching, still struggling into consciousness. Barney nudges her gently.

'Hey. Are you all right?'

She wants to slap him. Of course she isn't okay.

'My head hurts a bit.'

He runs his free hand through her hair and face, checking for cuts meticulously. There's a bruise by the side of his cheek. His hand is bleeding—she presumes he tried to fight their attacker. There's a mixture of fear and determination written on his expression.

'Why are we here?' she demands, her voice hushed. 'Why you? What did you do?'

'Some work contracts fell apart.'

'Contracts for what?'

His face is screwed up. 'I can't tell you.'

'Why not?'

'These are dangerous people. I can't risk you anymore than I have. I'm sorry.'

'You should be. You're the only reason why we're here, why I'm here.'

'Well, it's not like I planned for this.'

'So how do we get out of this?

'I don't know.'

'Where are we?'

'I don't know.'

'What do you know?'

'Nothing. I don't know who they are and what they want. I've been trying to figure it out.' He groans. 'This is the worst timing ever. Just when my game is so good.'

She shakes her head. 'It was a mistake riding with you.'

'You're blaming me now?'

'It is your fault.' She pulls away, dragging herself as far as the pipe can take her away from him—she's suffocating in here. The noise resonates in the empty room. 'I don't deserve this. I'm only here because of you.'

'Oh, and I deserve whatever this is? Is that what you're saying?' he asks angrily.

'For now?' She meets her eye coolly. 'You do.'

A harsh thing to say, she thinks. But she's too irrationally angry to try and care. For all she knows, nobody's ever going to figure out where they've disappeared to.

So, I hope if you like it I find a lot of reviews in my email. Just 5 will do. Or 6. I don't know, just please tell me if I should continue.

I feel like it was a mess, this chapter.