The atmosphere in Ted and Marshall's apartment was that of a headquarters on the eve of a high-risk mission. But the differences were that instead of geographic maps and blueprints of hostile terrain, they had napkins with lists scribbled by Barney.
Instead of weapons, there was stale coffee and the nervous determination of five people who knew they were about to cross a gigantic line.
"This is not a suggestion; it's a Code Red Intervention Protocol!" announced Barney, hitting his board, brought from home, hard with a ruler as a pointer. On it, in crooked letters, it read:
Operation 2.0: Save the Rock (BEFORE IT TURNS TO GRAVEL).
Robin, sitting on the sofa, rubbed her temples with an expression somewhere between tired and exasperated. "Barney, we can't call it 'Code Red.' It sounds like we're going to defuse a bomb."
"Because that's exactly what it is!" exclaimed Barney, pointing to a graph drawn with a marker where an animated figure with pigtails (Alyx, recognizable by the giant name clearly written as the drawing's title) was connected by lines to symbols drawn with more realism: coffee, cigarettes, and a skull-and-crossbones boxing bag.
"Here we have a bomb composed of her self-destructive lifestyle, identified by the clear timer which is her eyelids, the large and numerous bags comparable to those of a flea market vendor. And therefore, we are the heroic bomb disposal team. The question is: who cuts the red wire? Or the blue one? Actually, does anyone have a diagram of Alyx's internal wires?" Barney finished his long explanation about how Alyx was the bomb with a genuine question to his audience of friends.
"I'd cut any wire that brought me close to her after this," murmured Marshall, sunk in the armchair Alyx used, which, since his visit to her, he had been quiet, processing the collapse he had witnessed, the feeling of her body trembling against his chest. "I went there, you all know well, but when I saw her... she just broke down. Truly. And now we're going to stage this... spectacle?" Marshall finished, confused and pained.
"It's not a spectacle, Marshall," said Ted in his "voice of reason" tone, which often preceded terrible ideas. "It's a demonstration of group love. Like when we did the intervention for Stuart for his alcoholism."
"The cowboy hat was a legitimate accessory of a vibrant personality!" Marshall protested weakly.
"You were a Manhattan lawyer, not Woody from Toy Story," retorted Lily, who had been reluctantly invited to the war council. Her presence was a web of unresolved tensions, but as Robin had said: "She's part of this, as much as the cause." Lily looked at Barney's notes with a mix of worry and guilt.
"The point is, it worked. That intervention made us see, and especially Stuart, what alcohol was doing to his family," Ted concluded his idea.
"Yes, and then at his birthday party, he turned into 'Stewie the Party Monster' and destroyed the shooting range bar," Robin pointed out dryly.
"Details!" Barney made a dismissive hand gesture. "The important thing is the ritual. Although we need the banner, the cards, plus the classic loving but firm confrontation. It's like a trial, but with more hugs and fewer robes."
"Now we need to assign roles. Lily, you write the banner."
"And what do I put? 'Intervention for Alyx'?" asked Lily with a sigh.
"No! Too generic. Something more powerful, like - Alyx, Your Coffee Sucks and It's Killing You? - Maybe too direct. - Dear Alyx, Stop Hitting Yourself (And the Bags)? - I'm liking it..."
"I'll put - We Love You, Alyx -," Lily cut in with a look that made it clear the discussion was over.
"Ted," Barney continued, "you're the one who starts with the emotional speech. Something soft like - we've noticed you're not sleeping -. Marshall, you're the direct, unfiltered reality check. You know, talk about the crying, the bruises, how you miss her but don't recognize the woman she's becoming—that kind of thing. The harder but more emotional, the better. And Robin, you talk to her about the tremors, the smoke, the insane productivity—you know, hard but specific data."
"And me?" asked Barney, puffing out his chest.
"You... stay QUIET," said Robin.
"Impossible! The moderator is the one who guides all this, the best and most valuable, as they keep the energy high and avoid emotional dead ends. Plus, I have a card." He took an envelope from his jacket. "It's about her suspiciously successful trading. We also need to put these data into action here, as I've done some calculations and her returns don't follow normal market patterns. She's too good, and it would reaffirm my corporate espionage theory. Which would lead to greater danger for herself if discovered."
Everyone looked at him.
"Seriously, Barney?" Ted sighed.
"The statistical deviation is undeniable!" insisted Barney.
"Keep that card," ordered Marshall, standing up. "This isn't about that. It's about her... suffering. And while we were busy laughing about red dresses and calves, we let her drown in silence." His voice cracked slightly. "So let's do this. But it's indisputable that we must do it right, and not to make ourselves feel better, but for her."
It was that Marshall, the old Marshall full of heart, who sealed the agreement.
Even Barney nodded, putting away his envelope with a rarely solemn expression.
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