The SparkleBoys' sentence had left a new energy in the group. It was as if the absurd and glorious revelation of Robin Sparkles had purged one last layer of post-breakup tension. The laughter—so genuine and uncontrolled, the belly laugh Alyx had let out—still echoed in her ears like a happy aftershock.
Ted's Narration, 2030
Ted took a contemplative sip of his tea.
"Kids, winter in New York has a peculiar way of isolating couples. It's as if the cold were a nerve gas that activates the hibernation instinct in couples. And in the winter of 2006, Marshall, Lily, Robin, and I were deeply intoxicated by it. Which, naturally, left two souls outside, shivering in the metaphorical snow. Who were they? Barney Stinson... and your Aunt Alyx."
Winter, 2006
Alyx was, in fact, in a new phase. The "one day at a time" mantra had taken root. She no longer woke up with the metallic anxiety of trading, but with curiosity about the winter light in her new apartment.
The scaffolding canvas was still there, but now she had begun to sketch, with very faint lines, the silhouette of a building behind it.
Meanwhile, Barney was trying to pull the group out of its lethargy, and was being systematically rejected.
Barney constantly tried to rally the group, who remained more united in their stupor in Marshall and Ted's apartment.
First Attempt
"Nocturnal rave in an abandoned tire factory in Newark!" Barney announced one glacial afternoon, plastered against Marshall's apartment window like a dubious energy commercial. "We're on the list! Who's in?"
A chorus of sleepy "no"s was the response.
Second Attempt
"Private jet! Skydiving naked from Teterboro! Who's in?"
"Barney, I'm wearing wool socks. That should tell you everything you need to know about my mood," Lily murmured from the sofa, buried under a blanket.
Ted and Robin, on the same armchair, simply shook their heads, absorbed in a deeply uninteresting game of Scrabble.
Alyx, who was visiting, dropping off some pastries she had baked (a "one day at a time" experiment), observed the scene with a calm smile. It wasn't the distant smile of the caregiver or the tense grimace of someone enduring. It was genuinely genuine. She felt... good. Seeing them comfortable in their coupledom no longer produced that dull spectator's pain. Now it gave her a familiar calm. It was like watching puppies sleep.
Third Attempt
"One beer," Barney insisted, desperate. "The bar downstairs, fifteen seconds walking. Who's in?"
"Shhh," Marshall whispered. "Lily's falling asleep."
Barney let out a groan of exasperation and collapsed into an armchair. "This is pathetic. You're the zombies of affection."
It was then that Alyx spoke, her serene voice cutting through the moment. "They have Single Stamina, Barney. The classic Bachelor's Endurance. And we..." She made a broad gesture that included the four cuddled-up individuals. "...we have Couple Coma. It's a winter phase. And it will pass."
The terminology—so Barney, but spoken with Alyx's analytical calm—made even Marshall smile from where he was leafing through a law book without really seeing it.
"Exactly!" Barney pointed at Alyx as if she had just declared a universal truth. "Single Stamina! You get it! You're the only one who hasn't turned into an affective vegetable!" He looked at her, and a spark of ancient camaraderie shone in his eyes. "We need reinforcements. We need someone with our moral fiber and our... stamina."
The next day, Barney made his triumphant announcement in Ted and Marshall's apartment, where everyone was gathered. "Grab your belly-button lint, grandpas! Because guess who's coming to town!" And he introduced his brother, James.
James's arrival was a whirlwind of elegance and energy that shook the group's foundations. He was the perfected, polished version of Barney—someone confident, charming, and openly gay. Alyx observed him with interest. He wasn't a vision; it was a social deduction. James was the mirror in which Barney could see his own eccentricities reflected, hopefully without the layer of defensive cynicism. He was simply free.
And that night, James and Barney were a party machine of brotherhood. They achieved the impossible: they got everyone out of their burrows.
The destination was a club. Not just any club, but "Scandal"—a vibrant, open place Alyx knew by name but had never been to.
The music was loud, the lights low, and the crowd was a beautiful mix. Barney was right: it wasn't just a gay bar; it was a space where diversity flowed without labels. Men, women, people of all backgrounds and orientations danced, laughed, flirted openly. Alyx felt, for the first time in a long time, invisible in the best sense. Here, she wasn't anyone's ex, anyone's caregiver, or anyone's prophet. She was just another woman in a bar.
Marshall and Lily, though they came, exhibited all the symptoms of "Couple Coma." They desperately searched for a place to sit, yawned, and Marshall complained his shoes were tight. Meanwhile, Robin and Ted tried to dance, but it was the clumsy dance of two people more focused on not separating than on the music.
Alyx, on the other hand, let herself be carried by the atmosphere. She leaned against the bar, observing the dance floor with a faint smile. Her clothes were simple—black jeans and a silk top that Lily had insisted she wear ("You have to shine a little, Alyx!"). And she did shine, in a subtle but palpable way. She had the light of someone reconciling with herself.
It was then that she noticed her. A woman on the other side of the bar, with short hair dyed an electric lilac, piercing green eyes, and a smile that was half curiosity, half challenge. She also had a ring in her eyebrow and several on her fingers. But her gaze was fixed on Alyx.
At first, Alyx thought it was a coincidence and looked away. But when she looked back, the woman was still there, observing her. Not with the predatory gaze Alyx had seen in Barney or some men, but with a frank, appreciative, interested look. Alyx felt an unexpected blush rise up her neck. It wasn't discomfort. It was... surprise.
The woman approached, sliding through the crowd with feline ease, and stopped in front of Alyx, close enough that Alyx could feel her presence but still respecting her space.
"Your energy is fascinating," she said, her voice low and clear, audible despite the music. "It's like... a very quiet storm."
Alyx raised an eyebrow, recovering some of her analytical composure. "A quiet storm? That's an oxymoron."
"The best phenomena are," the woman replied, smiling. Her smile reached those green eyes. "I'm Sage."
"Alyx."
"I can tell you're not here to hook up," Sage continued with a perceptiveness that disarmed Alyx. "It's in your shoulders. You're not looking. But your eyes... your eyes are taking notes on everything. And I'm intrigued by what they must be noting."
Alyx couldn't help but give a half-smile. It was exactly what she was doing. "It's an interesting bar. The dynamic is... different."
"Free," Sage corrected. "Here, people flirt for the pure pleasure of connection, not always for the hunt. Although..." Her gaze deliberately, but not vulgarly, swept over Alyx. "...the hunt, when it's mutual, can also be a pleasure."
The flirtation was direct, intelligent, and persistent, but not aggressive. It was as if Sage were extending a bridge, inviting her to cross it only if she wanted to. Alyx felt flattered and something more—seen. Seen not for the weariness she no longer carried on her shoulders, not for how she constantly analyzed, but finally seen as the woman underneath all of that.
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