Life in the Fortress of Barnitude was, for Lily, a strange mix of hideous luxury and involuntary therapy. Barney's apartment was a monument to misogynistic bachelorhood: a king-size bed with a single pillow, one towel, a hallway with porn lit up like an art gallery, and a life-size stormtrooper as a guardian. It was repulsive but honest in its repulsiveness, and there was no ambiguity.
Her first mission as a wife was a masterpiece of black comedy. Barney brought home a "recalcitrant hippie" who, immunized to the porn and the stormtrooper, seemed willing to stay for breakfast. At the key moment, Lily entered the scene in a borrowed robe (which Barney kept just in case) and gave a performance worthy of a soap opera.
"Barney, how could you?! In our own home!" she shouted with fake but convincing tears. The slap that followed wasn't faked; it was cathartic, accumulated from years of listening to his theories and watching his games. The sound echoed in the minimalist apartment.
The hippie fled, horrified. Barney, rubbing his cheek, looked at Lily with pure admiration. "That was incredible! That slap had history, emotion! You're an artist!"
Lily, her heart pounding, realized something.
In the role of the betrayed wife, she had found a voice for her own rage—the rage for having been abandoned, for breaking something precious, for feeling lost. It wasn't really against Barney; it was against the situation, against herself, against the universe. And slapping his envoy (Barney) had been liberating.
But the farce had a price. That night, curled up in the huge bed (separated by an imaginary cannon of mergers), they talked not as actor and accomplice, but as two people broken in their own ways.
"You don't pay for anything, do you?" Lily asked, pointing around the apartment.
"The rules of the game are clear," Barney said, his tone unusually somber. "They get a night in the palace, I get... what I get. No one stays. No one leaves a toothbrush."
"Sounds very lonely."
"Sounds very free." But Barney's protest lacked its usual conviction.
Lily thought of Alyx's apartment, the scaffolding on the canvas, the soup shared in silence. "It's not freedom, Barney. It's fear that someone might see behind the lit-up porn and the stormtrooper."
Barney didn't respond, just turned over, pretending to sleep. But Lily knew she had touched a nerve. She had found another crack, only this time in Barney's armor.
While Lily acted in Barney's marital farce, Marshall faced the consequences of his "no" to Brad. He ran into him at the law school gym, where Brad confessed that he and Kara had gotten back together.
"Sorry, brother, I should have called you," Brad said, looking at his sneakers.
Marshall felt a wave of relief so powerful it almost shamed him. "It's okay. I'm happy for you." And partly, it was true. Brad was no longer his responsibility, his project to fill the void.
But then Brad added: "You know, for a moment there... I thought we had something special. A bond of single guys in the trenches."
Marshall blushed. "Yeah, well... it was fun while it lasted. The brunch, the musical we never saw..."
"We could still do it as normal friends." Brad smiled.
Marshall understood. Brad had also been using their friendship as a bandage, and now that he no longer needed it, the dynamic was deflating. He gave Brad an awkward pat on the shoulder. "Sure, man. See you around."
It was a non-dramatic goodbye, soft and a little melancholic. Marshall realized he had gone through a phase—the one of desperately seeking replacements. Brad had been that. And Alyx, with her pastries and her "one day at a time," had shown him that what he needed wasn't a replacement, but patience to heal, to be alone, to reconnect genuinely without forcing anything.
Lily's experiment in the Fortress of Barnitude came to an abrupt end. Barney, increasingly uncomfortable with Lily's insight and the way his "fake wife" was exposing the cracks in his system—making him redecorate to function better and making his apartment seem too familiar—decided to terminate the arrangement.
"This isn't working anymore," he announced one morning, avoiding her gaze. "You've gotten used to a certain standard of living. You've lowered your guard."
"And that's bad?" Lily asked, packing her few things.
"It's lethal to my lifestyle." Barney took a step back as if Lily were contagious. "You have to leave. Today."
Lily wasn't surprised, just nodded. "You're right. I lowered my guard. I let someone in and... it wasn't so bad." She smiled a sad but genuine smile. "You should try it someday, Barney. With someone who isn't a client."
Barney didn't respond, just pointed at the door. But Lily couldn't leave without a fight, and strangely, she managed to get him to give her those nice, soft sheets, so comfortable. Then, with them, Lily left the Fortress. She had nowhere to go—the raccoon was probably still in her apartment—but instead of panic, she felt a strange calm. She had acted, confronted, even given a therapeutic slap. She felt less like a victim and more like the protagonist of her own chaotic drama.
Without thinking twice, she went to Alyx's apartment—not to ask for refuge, but to report like an officer returning from a mission.
Alyx opened the door, saw the suitcase, the bedding peeking out of the bag, and Lily's tired but resolute expression.
"Mission over?" Alyx asked.
"Yes. I was fired for lowering my guard and becoming too human. But I got my fee." Lily entered and collapsed on the floor. "Don't let me stay. I just need a minute to think."
Alyx nodded, prepared two cups of tea, and sat facing her. The silence wasn't uncomfortable.
"What do I do now, Alyx?" Lily asked, her voice small. "I can't go back to the raccoon. I can't... I can't go back to Marshall like some charity case."
Alyx looked at her canvas. The scaffolding was almost complete, solid and ready to hold something. "I don't know," she said honestly. "But now you have more information. You know you can act or slap (metaphorically or literally) what hurts you. And you know..." She paused. "...that there's a floor here, in this apartment, where you can sit and think. It's not a solution. It's more like scaffolding so you don't fall while you figure it out."
Lily looked at the lines on the canvas and understood. It wasn't about Alyx fixing her; it was about Alyx offering a foothold, as she had done with Marshall, as she was doing for herself.
"Thank you," Lily murmured, and this time, the gratitude wasn't laden with guilt but with a deep, mature recognition.
That night, Lily slept on Alyx's sofa again. This time, not just with Barney's soft sheets, but as a temporary guest or a friend in transition.
And Alyx, going to bed, didn't feel the anxiety of having to take care of someone, but the quiet satisfaction of having built something solid enough to bear another's weight without giving way. The silver earring on her nightstand shone in the moonlight. It was no longer a broken promise, but a reminder that even from the most complicated rubble, one could extract the materials to build something new, stronger because it knew the weight of fragility.
If you enjoyed it, leave a Review and Power Stones.
You can also support me on Patreon and read up to 25-30 new chapters Join The ROBIN SPARKLES Level on Patreon
👉 https://[email protected]/cw/Day_bluefic