The domestic truce between Alyx and Lily was fragile but operational.
Lily respected the rules, but her mere presence changed the density of the air. The apartment was no longer a void; it had a rhythm with the sound of the shower in the morning, the clinking of dishes, the calm breathing of another person sleeping on the sofa. For Alyx, it was disconcerting and, secretly, a relief.
It was as if a part of her brain—the part always on guard—could finally take a shift off.
But the universe, in the form of Barney Stinson, had other plans.
One afternoon, while Alyx went out to buy more tea (her coffee was now a relic of the past), Barney appeared at the door. Lily let him in, amused by his audacity.
"Lily Pad, I heard you were in raccoon exile. Sorry about your roommate. Although between us, a raccoon is probably a better conversationalist than most of my dates." He strolled around the apartment, examining the canvas, the sketchbook. "Interesting. Very... therapeutic. But it's missing something."
"What?" asked Lily, playing along.
"A man. A husband, to be specific. You see, I have a small problem. My apartment, the Fortress of Barnitude, is a perfectly oiled machine for scaring women away after... well, you know. But lately, some have become immune. They persist, and I need a definitive deterrent." His eyes shone with a perverse idea. "You."
"Me?"
"Yes! My fake wife, of course. You'd just have to appear at strategic moments, wear a cheap but convincing ring, and maybe give me an affectionate slap for being late. You'd be the final nail in the coffin of their marital hopes. And in return, you can stay in my palace as long as you need. You'd have a king-size bed and a sound system that makes angels cry."
Lily looked at him. Although the proposal was absurd, manipulative, and typical Barney, it was also an escape, a place where she could have space, comfort, and an absurd mission to distract her from her own mess. And, let's be honest, the idea of slapping Barney with impunity was tremendously tempting.
"What's the rule?" she asked, copying Alyx's tone.
"Just one: don't change anything. My apartment is a sanctuary of bachelorhood."
Lily smiled. It was the same rule, an echo. "Deal."
When Alyx returned, Lily was already gone, leaving a note: Barney recruited me for a fake wife mission. His apartment has hot water. I left you the leftover soup. Thanks for the refuge. - L -
Alyx read the note but didn't feel abandoned, rather a strange satisfaction. Lily had found her own crack in the wall, her own twisted path forward. And she, Alyx, had provided the necessary temporary refuge for Lily to breathe and plan her next move. It had been, albeit small, an act of caregiving again, but this time by choice, not obligation, and she didn't feel empty because of it.
Marshall's Perspective
Meanwhile, Marshall's "relationship" with Brad was progressing into murkier waters. After brunch and the plan for the musical, Brad called.
"Hey, Marshall, remember that wedding in Vermont I mentioned? The hostel room is still reserved, the Walt Whitman Suite, brother. What do you say? We can reclaim nature, drink apple cider, drown our sorrows in canapés..."
Marshall froze. A trip to Vermont with Brad was the final frontier of "friends doing couple things" territory. Ted and Robin had warned him. Even Alyx's message echoed in his head: "If you like it... it's a 10." Did he like the idea? The truth was, it sounded uncomfortable, forced, and profoundly sad.
"Brad... that sounds... incredible," said Marshall, his voice sounding false even to his own ears. "But I have... a thing. With... my other friend. The one going through a tough time." It wasn't a complete lie. Alyx was a friend, and even though she was doing better, Marshall felt a genuine impulse to be there for her in the city instead of running off to Vermont with Brad.
Hanging up, Marshall felt an enormous relief. He had said no. He had prioritized the real, though complicated, connection with Alyx over the convenient but forced one with Brad. It was a step away from the role of a desperate single guy trying to fill voids and a step toward simply being Marshall.
That night, he went to Alyx's apartment. He didn't call first; he just showed up with a bag of decent pastries from a bakery and a nervous determination.
Alyx opened the door, looked at him, then at the bag.
"It's not brunch," Marshall clarified quickly. "It's just... pastries because you're horribly bad at buying food that isn't coffee."
Alyx gave a half-smile. "Come in."
They sat on the sofa and talked about Lily's fake wife mission, about how pathetic Brad was, about how exhausting Ted was with his cornices. It was normal, easy. And Marshall realized with a jolt of clarity that what he had been seeking in all those brunches and plans with Brad was unpretentious company. The kind Alyx had always offered and that he, in his obsession to fill the void left by Lily, had neglected.
"Thank you," Marshall said at the end, gathering the crumbs.
"For the pastries? You brought them."
"No. For... being here."
Alyx looked at him, and for a second, her mask of serenity softened, showing the weariness and gratitude beneath. "One day at a time, Marshall. For both of us."
When Marshall left, Alyx stood looking at the canvas. The lines of the scaffolding seemed more solid. It wasn't that she had solved anything; it was that she had held steady. She had been a refuge for Lily, an anchor for Marshall, without collapsing in the process.
The scaffolding wasn't for rebuilding the past; it was for holding herself up while she decided what to build next. And for the first time, the idea of a future didn't terrify her. It seemed like a blank canvas full of possibilities.
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