Disclaimer: In a truly shocking turn of events, I still don't own HIMYM.

A/N: *dodges rotten tomatoes* There are no words for how sorry I am for the length of the wait on this update. It's been what, about four months? I'm not sure why this fic is giving me so much trouble. But have no fear; it will be finished one day. In the meantime, if any of you are still reading, thanks for hanging in there with me. And my thanks to those of you who have been reviewing; you are the proverbial wind beneath my wings. ;-)

Chapter Twelve: Chocolate Chip Cookies and Ice Cream Splits

Dear Diary,

Work's pretty much the same old, same old. I've been simultaneously reporting on the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy and trying to ignore Sandy Rivers' terrible innuendo-laden puns involving said hurricane. Talking about the hurricane, though… well, it's brought back some memories. Whatever. What's past is past.

Meanwhile, Patrice has gotten even clingier. She's kind of scaring me now. Like genuinely scaring me. Today I ran into her in the elevator and she was wearing an outfit identical to mine from the turquoise-and-blue wrap dress right down to the black heels. I mean, imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but this has gone past flattery and straight to the creepy zone. Think about it: How could she know I'd be wearing that dress today? Oh God, is she spying on me? Does she have a camera in my apartment or something? (Hmm, maybe I should talk to Barney about that. He'd know how to detect one if it's there.)

Don't worry, though. It got worse. She nudged me with her elbow, which knocked my mug of scalding-hot coffee all over me. Then she apologized again and again and kept molesting me under the guise of wiping the stains off my dress with paper napkins. And considering I was talking to Joe from marketing at the time, it was extra embarrassing. Needless to say, I all but ran off the elevator the second we reached our floor. My dress is ruined but I don't really care. I wouldn't want to wear it again anyway.

In other news, last night was another night of marathon sex. Nick and I are rocking this relationship thing! (Or at least, something's rocking, if you know what I mean. Heh.) We might have hit a bump in the road a while back, but the sex is hotter than ever now. And I've gotta say this much for Nick: he takes directions in bed really well. A bit over-literally at times, but really well nonetheless.

- Robin

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Dear Diary,

I don't believe it. I don't freakin' believe it!

OK, so I don't think I've mentioned this yet, but Nick is on this "basketball" team in the Little Ivies Professionals Over Thirty Who Work in Midtown League. Marshall's their captain and they're called The Force Majeures; y'know, like the law thingy? (Marshall explained it to us all. I stopped listening after the first five minutes.)

At any rate, you'd think that with Marshall as their captain they'd be somewhat decent, right? I mean, the guy knows how to coach: Push your team until they drop to the floor crying and then tell them that they're being babies and that only winners get breaks. That's how I was taught to play hockey, and our team? Won championships all the time. Unfortunately, however, Marshall's team still sucks. As in, Nick, my boyfriend, is their best player. Which is a little pathetic to be honest. I mean, he'd never even played basketball until Marshall put him on the team. Whatever.

So during one of their practices, Nick managed to pull his groin and now his doctor says he can't have sex. Talk about bogus! Basketball isn't even really a sport; something only counts as a sport if there's blood and at least one guy gets a tooth knocked out per game. Am I right or am I right? Anyway, Nick somehow managed to pull his groin playing on Marshall's stupid little basketball team of amateurs and as of today it's been one full day since we've had sex. One. Whole. Day.

I don't think you properly understand the deprivation I'm going through right now. Of course you don't, you're a diary! But Nick and I – we have a very physical connection. If we aren't having sex at least three times a day, something's seriously wrong. Also… I don't really know how to communicate with him without sex. Sex is like the social lubricant of our relationship.

You know what, this is stupid. I can survive a few days without sex. And Nick and I can totally communicate without the aid of sex. I mean, we're both intelligent adults, right?

- Robin

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Dear Diary,

OK, I may have been overstating it a bit with the whole 'intelligent adults' thing. I don't know how I didn't notice this before, but… how do I put this? Nick isn't… exactly an intellectual. Which is fine! I mean, God knows I don't want to date another Ted. But, uh, he really isn't an intellectual. At all.

Remember the candle incident? Yeah. Maybe that should have been a clue. I feel kind of bad for saying this, but I'm pretty sure that Nick is… well, stupid.

But he's such a nice guy. (And he's still ridiculously hot.) And someone doesn't need to be smart to be worth relationship-worthy. I mean, so what if he's not the brightest bulb in the box? He's got other good qualities. Like those abs for example…

Maybe I just need to make an effort to talk to him on his level. To, I dunno, find out his interests and stuff. Come to think of it, I'm not sure whether we've ever discussed what he likes to do (outside of his show, that is)… If we did, I think I tuned him out. Maybe I should change that.

- Robin

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Dear Diary,

Plan scrapped. We have absolutely no common interests beyond hockey, sex, and food. But that's totally enough to build a relationship around, right?

…only without the sex, it kind of isn't.

And I have to admit, I sort of miss getting intellectual stimulation. And sex. It's been three days here, you know. Three. Days.

Of course, compared to Marshall and Lily and their Sahara Desert dry spell, that's nothing. (Lily's horniness has manifested in her loud fantasies about me, Nick, and a slutty Danish exchange student named Nadia. Which is sort of flattering and a little bit creepy.)

When I mentioned my suspicion that Nick might be kind of dumb, suddenly everyone chimed in. Apparently they've realized this all along. And no one ever told me!

Barney brought up a good point, though. Much though I hate to admit it, it isn't fair for me to date a brainless he-bimbo just for sex. Both of us deserve better than that. Nick deserves to find an equally vapid she-bimbo to bump boots with and I deserve to have all of my needs met, mental included. …But that means that I have to break up with him. I hate breaking up with guys. And Nick's like a puppy. He'll just look at me with those sad, confused eyes and I'll feel like the world's worst person.

Still, I can do this. I can. One step at a time, Robin.

- Robin

P.S. Apparently Ted's method of coping with his breakup with Victoria was to create a basketball team called the T-Squares. Yeah. And guess who's their captain? Yeah. They've spent their practice time measuring the gym and talking about how its "aesthetic has too much heavy wood." And according to Coach Ted, "you can win a hundred games without ever touching a ball" if you just "think like an architect." …Those guys are gonna get pounded in their first game. (God, I wish I was getting pounded right now…)

P.P.S. Also, Marshall has informed me that I need to break up with Nick "gently" so I don't "throw off his game." Thanks, Marshall. No pressure or anything.

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Dear Diary,

So… I tried to break up with Nick. Really I did! But those abs of his. God! I got distracted, alright? I'm only human. And those rippling pectorals of his have superhuman powers.

Barney's acting kind of weird about it though. Like, extra weird. Almost manic. He said that he knew I'd cave. Am I really that predictable? But we haven't even reached the worst part yet. One sec, let me get some air so I can yell properly:

Are you freakin' kidding me? Robin and Patrice's BFF FUN DAY? God, if Patrice sees that thing she'll latch onto me so tightly that an octopus won't even come close to comparing.

I get what Barney's trying do. Really, I do. And I even appreciate it on a certain level. But this is just cruel and unusual punishment. And now I only have a couple of hours to break up with Nick or that invitation is going to go out…

- Robin

P.S. Patrice force-fed me a chocolate-chip cookie in the elevator today while I was talking on the phone. Yeah. How is it that she doesn't understand that I don't want her frickin' cookies?! (Even if they are delicious.) Someone needs to send her to one of those sensitivity seminars. No means no.

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Dear Diary,

OK, I have a plan. I'm going to take Nick to that new desert place: Splitsville. According to Barney, it's the place for break-ups. I can do this.

- Robin

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Dear Diary,

God, what a night. I just – wow. OK, first things first: I broke up with Nick. Fine, Barney broke up with Nick for me. But I tried to break up with him! Just… he didn't get it. Because he's overly-literal and underly-intelligent. And then he got some bad news and I couldn't bear to hurt him even more. But then it turned out that that 'bad news' was good news… he could have sex again! He just couldn't play for The Force Majeures this season. And really, who cares about that? (Well, other than Marshall that is.) I tried to break up with him, sex availability notwithstanding, but he started sucking my fingers and nipping at my neck and – well, it's probably a good thing that Barney showed up when he did.

He said that we loved each other. That he was in love with me. Barney, that is. That there had been times he'd wished he wasn't but that he couldn't stop and – well, all sorts of lovely, painful, private things. Only he said them out loud in a public place. He was… very convincing.

I was convinced, anyway.

Later, he said that he'd just been pretending, but I'm not so sure. Because the way he was acting… I dunno. I could've sworn we were about to kiss before Patrice's stupid phone call interrupted us. (Guess who forgot to cancel the BFF Fun Day invite?) I – I don't know. I'm confused.

Barney is… he's like a magnet, OK? And even though it probably isn't healthy, I've always been drawn to him. But – it isn't healthy, this thing that we have. We're probably better off as friends. I mean, that's what we decided all those years ago, right? …I just don't know.

Whatever. It's not like I need to make any decisions tonight. And maybe I just imagined something that wasn't really there. I'll sleep on it.

- Robin

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Dear Diary,

I just got back from the 'BFF Fun Day' with Patrice. All I can say is this: Never. Again.

- Robin

Reviews = delicious, magical calorie-free toppings on ice cream sundaes. I'm a fan of these toppings and Barney and Robin happen to be quite fond of them too. Now that *spoiler alert!* they're engaged, I hear they lick them off of one another. Review and enable B/R's kinky sex!