Chapter Text
Lacey had been in a fragile emotional state when she met Barney Stinson. He made her think she was special, that he didn’t usually do anything so soon after meeting someone, that it was hard to date after his wife died. In most circumstances she wouldn’t have slept with a guy after only a few hours, but she was drunk, and her best friend had turned out to be a horrible friend who would stab Lacey in the back the first chance it would benefit her. Barney seemed so sweet and genuine that she figured something good could come from the night. She took him home to talk somewhere more comfortable, and he told her he really liked her, that maybe with her he could start to move on. She thought he was amazing, and wanted to see if they could work. By two in the morning she found herself in bed with him, and while she wouldn’t usually do that, she was sure it wouldn’t be just a one night stand, that something real would come from tonight.
In the morning, instead of waking up to him beside her, there was a letter. It was typed up, with her name written to fill in a few blanks. The letter was vague, but it made it obvious that the letter itself and what he had told her the previous night were lies. It was printed for the ease of giving it to many women, who he probably gave different backstories and promises. Or the same, and she wasn’t quite sure which was worse.
She went to the same bar that night, curious as to if he was there, and if he would be pulling this crap again. She found him in a booth and sat in the one next to it, back to back with him so he wouldn’t see her, but she would be able to hear him. For a minute the conversation in the neighboring booth was focused on some building his friend was working on. But then there was a lull, and she became the new topic.
“Just so you guys know, the dead wife thing totally works.”
“How’d you bring that up?” Building friend asked.
“I sat next to her and after a minute or so I said, ‘you don’t look like you’re having a very good day either.’ She gave me a rundown of her day, I told her it was the third anniversary of my late wife’s death. She died after we crashed our car on the way to brunch, I was driving and the passenger side was crushed in more, so I only got injured, while she sadly passed away. I blame myself. I used the scars from when that bus hit me as proof. I needed to start moving on, but it’s just so hard, and she was oh so kind enough to help me.”
Lacey could hear the smirk in his voice and had to fight the urge not to turn around and give him a piece of her mind. She thought she’d better hold on that, at least for now.
“Why was her day so bad? It sounds like you were playing on her feelings as well, not just your fake ones," one of the girls he was sitting with inquired, disapproval lacing her voice. Lacey briefly wondered if he ever tried to move on either of his female friends, or if he kept the line there either because he actually respects them or because he would still have to see them afterwards.
“Something about some chick stealing something from her or something. She said something about something good coming from last night, and she was totally right. She’s probably all better now, I mean, she spent a night with the Barnacle."
“I’m not sure that's what she meant,” the girl replied.
Barney scoffed. “Of course it is.” And it almost sounded like he might believe it, even though her just wanting to sleep with him was decidedly untrue.
And as such, a plan forms in Lacey's mind. She just needs to investigate a little, and get some help.