Baby Steps

“What...the...hell...” I mutter, as Phoebe slides out of her chair and greets Eric with a warm hug and a kiss to each cheek. I refuse to budge from my seat. Or crack even the slightest of smile.

I had promised myself months ago that one drunken encounter was enough. That I'd stay away from him and refuse to acknowledge any and all feelings that I had developed him. No matter how amazing that one night (whether booze fuelled or not) had been or how desperately I'd wanted to go running to him during the darkest of days. Whether it was the rocky patch in my marriage that had left me broken and battered emotionally, or sickness that had physically ravaged my body. I don't know when -or even how- a 'revenge fuck' had developed into something more. I know that Eric has feelings for me. Genuine feelings. He's confessed it on more than one occasion; both sober and intoxicated. But I had promised myself that once I got the bitterness and need for revenge out of my system, I'd simply walk away and we'd go back to being nothing more than friends. Two people who conversed through facebook and tweeted each other back and forth and played the occasional online game together. I was going to make my marriage work. Max and I were going to be happy and we were going to raise our little boy together and be 'picture perfect' and never make any mistakes ever again. We would move to Philadelphia and we'd be happy goddammit. It was our destiny. I'd loved him for far too long and fought too hard to make him mine to simply let things go down the tubes.

Now I'm realizing that there's a higher power at work. Something far more sinister and threatening at the helm. It's as if we're part of some sick and twisted game; nothing more than pawns who could help themselves if they wanted to but somehow enjoy the torture that's being inflicted.

“Sorry I'm late,” Eric apologizes, as Phoebe straightens and tightens his tie. “Got caught up in traffic.”

“All that matters is that you got here,” she says, and then smooths the lapels on his jacket. “You clean up pretty good. Don't you think so, Sloan? Don't you think he's devastatingly handsome?”

It takes all the willpower I have to manage a small smile. There's a part of me that wants to wrap my hands around her neck and throttle her. There's a bigger part of me that's as nervous as hell at the prospect of being face to face with Eric again. And a smaller one...one that I've tried to ignore for months...that is quick to conjure up memories of our drunken encounter.

“I love it when a plan comes to together,” Pheebs smiles and rubs her hands together deviously, then shoots him a wink before scooping her clutch purse from its hiding spot under the table. “Now if you two will excuse me, I am heading to the bar to pick up a ravishing blond that's been sending me 'fuck me' vibes since I got here.”

“What are you...?” I glance towards the area in question; scowling when I spy Jordan -standing out like a sore thumb in a pair of weather blue jeans and a simple white polo shirt- sipping a bottle of beer. “...you fucking bitch!” I hiss at my best friend. “You never were planning on getting together with me. This was a set up all along!”

“It all came together at the last second,” she assures me, and I angrily shove her backwards when she attempts to curl an arm around my neck. “This is for your own good,” she says, and clasps my face in her hands. “I wouldn't have done this if I didn't think it was best for you.”

Tears threaten. “You don't get it do you,” I whisper, jerking my head in Eric's direction as he awkwardly shifts from one foot to the other. “I don't want to see him.”

“You don't want to see him or you can't see him? Because those are two totally different things, doll face. There's no way that you can look me in the eye and tell me that you don't want to see him. That you aren't glad that he's here. Because I know you. Better than you know yourself half of the time. If not more. And I know full well that you haven't stopped thinking about him. That he hasn't been constantly on your mind since that one night you spent together.”

“It was one night. It was one night and we were drunk and stupid and...”

“Drunk minds speak sober thoughts. And they do the things that they're terrified to do when they're in the right frame of mind. Just so they can use the same excuse you're using right now.”

“It's not an excuse. We were drunk. We were totally shit faced and I was looking for a revenge fuck and he was there and...”

“And you still want that revenge. You're still bitter and hurt. You probably always will be. And you can plaster a fake smile on your face and talk until you're blue in the face about how you and Max are working things out and he's turned over a new leaf. How moving here was the best thing for both of you. But let me tell you something, sweetheart...” she digs her fingers into my cheeks and forces me to look at her. “...you can move a million miles a way and it won't make things any better. Because it doesn't erase the past. And a change of scenery sure as hell doesn't make all that pain away. He's never going to change, Sloan. And deep down I think you realize that.”

“He has changed,” I argue. “And he's changing more and more every day.”

“You might be in love with Max, but I think...no, I know...that you're more in love with the thought of him. You were so obsessed with him for so long and then you finally got what you want and you're going to fight like hell to keep it. But he isn't the same person you married. He never fit all those expectations you had of him. And he never will. It hurts like hell to let go, but...”

“I hate you,” I hiss.

“And I love you. Which is why I'm doing this. Because if you won't help yourself, it's up to me to do it. Please, Sloan...” she presses a kiss to my forehead. “...I know the truth hurts like a bitch, but it's about time you heard it. And it's best if it comes from me, don't you think?”

I shake my head and valiantly hold back a flood of tears. “He's just a child.”

“Only a year younger than you. Not even than. Just a few months. Don't you get it? He's in love with you. And maybe he won't come right out and admit it, but there's no denying it. And I think you're in love with him too. Which is why you're so scared of all of this. Why you've been so reluctant to see him.”

“You're insane,” I mutter, and she brushes her lips against my cheek.

“Call me,” she runs a hand over my hair and then turns to Eric and gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Everything's going to be fine, guys. I promise.”

Maybe, I think. But first it's all going to be blown to hell.

*****

After the longest and most torturous moments of silence I've ever endured, Eric noisily clears his throats, ceases rocking back and forth on his heels and removes his hands from the pockets of his suit jacket.

“So...” he begins, and nervously tugs on his tie. “...this is a little...awkward.”

“Understatement,” I grumble, and polish off my entire glass of champagne in one gulp. There's not enough alcohol in the world to erase my current discomfort or to rid of the embarrassment I have over the fact he's seen me naked. I wonder if he thinks about that night as often as I do. If he ever has the same moments of weakness or faces a rather trying moment in his every day life and thinks back to what went down between us.

And if he wishes it could happen again.

“Not enough alcohol in the world,” I declare, and pour myself another glass.

“I know we agreed that this would never happen. That we wouldn't see each other again. That everything was just fine the way things were. But...”

“You promised me, Eric. You promised me you'd stay away. That you were okay with just being friends. That everything was just peachy keen the way things were; talking online and sharing some laughs and having some fun without having to be in the same room.”

“I lied,” he admits. “Not that I realized I was lying at first,” he quickly adds when I glare at him. “Because I really did think that I was okay with all that. That I was cool with the set up and us just being friends. But the more we talked and the more we had fun together, the more I wanted to see you again. The more I needed to see you.”

“What part of 'I'm married and I have a kid' don't you understand?”

“What part of 'your husband is a fucking dick and doesn't deserve you' don't you understand?” he counters.

“Touche,” I snidely respond. “Neither Max or I are stunning examples of A plus humanity. It's not like either of us have any common sense, good judgement or morals.”

“He got what he deserved. Or at least part of what he deserved. All that's left now is to just kick his ass to the curb and...”

“An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind,” I point out.

“Okay, Gandhi,” he snorts. “Who are you going to quote next? Mother Teresa? Because that would be a huge, huge stretch for you, don't you think?”

“Just because I'm not jumping out of my chair and throwing you down on the table and ravishing you doesn't mean you can start acting like an asshole. I don't know who the hell you think you are or what you think you're going to accomplish by being here, but...”

A sly grin tugs at his lips. “But you're thinking about it, aren't you. You're wishing you could throw me down on the table and ravish me.”

“Child...please...” I roll my eyes. And hope to God he doesn't see the blush that creeps into my cheeks. The sex had been good. Okay...it had been better than good, in fact. It had been wild and crazy and he'd been so eager to please. He had seemed so much younger than me in that moment; surprisingly inexperienced, looking to learn more from a willing and able teacher.

“I didn't lie at first, Sloan. I was going to stay away. I wasn't going to contact you face to face ever again. But like I said: the more we talked and the more good times we had together...”

“I can't believe you used Phoebe against me. And I can't believe she's even helping you in the first place.”

“I didn't know who else to turn to. And when she told me that she was meeting you tonight, I knew it was probably going to be my only chance. It was my idea. Well, ninety percent, anyway. So please don't hate her, okay? She's your best friend and she loves you so much and just wants you to be happy.”

“And she thinks being with you is what's going to make me happy?”

“Apparently.”

“And do you think that too, Eric? Do you think being with you would make me happy?”

“I don't know,” he shrugs. “I guess so. I hope so.”

And there it is. The enormous difference between him and Max slapping me right across the face. Max is mature and confident. Eric -more times than not- is an awkward little boy stuck in a huge, strong body.

“You're making me nervous,” I complain, and pick up the bottle of champagne and top up my glass before filling his. “Sit down before I walk out of here and get back to my life.”

“You wouldn't do that,” he unbuttons his suit jacket and slips into the chair across from me. “You want to see me just as much as I want to see you.”

Maybe he's a little more confident that I've given him credit for.

“I notice you didn't say that you already are happy. That you didn't get all defensive over someone slamming Max.”

“If I got upset over every person that said something bad about him, I'd need a lifetime supply of Prozac and anger management classes. And I didn't think I needed to point out the obvious. I thought everyone knew how happy I was.”

“Everyone knows you're bullshitting about how happy you are. You really don't think you're fooling anyone, do you, Sloan?”

“I don't have to prove anything to anyone. Especially not to you. So why don't you just go back to Wilkes-Barre and leave me alone?”

He grins. “Here comes the defensiveness. It's kind of hot, you know. How pissed off you get. Way your eyes go crazy and your cheeks go all red.”

“You have problems,” I snort. “Huge problems.”

“I do,” he agrees, and sips his champagne. “Mom always warned me about the evils of gingers. But I have to say...” he reaches across the table and twirls a strand of my hair around his index finger. “...you make a smokin' hot brunette. Whose idea was this? Yours of the jail warden's?”

I slap his hand away. “I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions about things. You know, you should really take your mom's advice. Steer clear of gingers. Starting now.”

“You don't count now. You dyed your hair.”

“But I'm originally a ginger, so...”

“I'm making the rules up here, Sloan. If I say you don't count, you don't count.”

“You make up the rules,” I smirk and lift my glass to my lips. “That's funny. Considering the last time we were face to face...”

“Among other things,” he tosses in. “Our faces weren't the only things up in each others business.”

“...you were all into being bossed around. Now you're suddenly into calling the shots? You want to be the domineering one?”

“Who said I always haven't been and I just let you have your way with me? Who said things won't be different the second time around?”

“Well here's the deal, Eric,” leaning across the table, I crook my finger and beckon him towards me as if I'm about to spill top secret information. “There isn't going to be a second time,” I whisper, and sit back in my chair with a victorious grin.

The corners of his lips twitch but he doesn't respond. He doesn't need to. There's no reason for him to come right out and tell me how full of shit I actually am.

“If you came here for a booty call...”

“You look beautiful,” he doesn't give me a chance to finish. “Even more beautiful than before.”

“...you better get up and head for the door. I'm no one's booty call.”

“You were Max's booty call for four years,” he points out.

“All water under the bridge. And beautiful? Right...” I roll my eyes. “I look like a sack of shit.”

“You're beautiful,” he insists. “I've always thought so. I don't know how you can feel that way about yourself. Unless someone is putting that crap in your head. Is that what Max tells you? That you look like shit? Does he tell you that you're lucky he's with you and that no one else would want you?”

“Now you're really reaching. He may be a lot of things, but an abusive asshole he is not.”

“He's just a liar and a cheat. I guess the fact he doesn't beat the crap out of you or talk like shit to you are his only redeeming qualities.”

“We're just as bad as he is. If not worse. At least I am. I slept with you out of bitterness and revenge. Doesn't that make me worse than him?”

“He's a disgusting piece of shit that deserves everything bad that happens to him. And if you even try and tell me that he's turned over a new leaf...”

“He hasn't turned it completely over. But he's almost there. It's why we moved here. To put it all behind us and start over again. Only certain people...” I glare across the table at him. “...won't let us do that.”

“You can forgive but there's no way you can forget.”

“Not when I've got such fine upstanding citizens such as yourself reminding me about it every chance they get,” I snarl, and shoo the waiter away when he comes to take our order. “So let me reiterate...”

“Oooohhh...reiterate...” he smirks. “...look at the college graduate using the big fancy words in front of the dumb hockey player.”

“...I am no one's booty call. So if that's why you came here...”

“I came here because I wanted to see you. Because I needed to see you.”

“Well find someone else to want and need, Eric. I'm not yours to want and need. I never will be. So you need to just leave me alone. For good. No more phone calls, no more chatting online. From here on out, we're done. Kaput.”

“I can't do that, Sloan. I can't walk away from you.”

“Well then let me save you the energy,” I shove my chair backwards and jump to my feet. “I'm done here. I'm done with you. Leave me alone, Eric.”

He snatches me by the wrist before I can step past his chair. “I'm in love with you.”

“You're delusional,” I snarl, and attempt to yank my arm out of his grip. “You're a delusional little boy. Go and find someone else to be in love with.”

“You know, for a wife and mother, you have a lot of growing up to do,” he informs me, calmly getting to his feet and pulling my body flush with his. “You're the one acting like a child. You're the one that can't just come right out and admit that you're in love with me too. That is so devoted to a worthless piece of shit that doesn't deserve her. You know damn well that he hasn't changed. That he never will. That all those rumours about that figure skater are true.”

“Leave me alone,” I struggle against his impressive strength. “Please just leave me alone, Eric. Just let me walk away. It's what's best for both of us. Just let me walk away. Just let me walk away and...”

“I'm in love with you,” he repeats, and brushes his lips against my temple. “And I know you're too scared to admit that you love me too.”

“Don't do this,” I plead, closing my eyes tightly in a worthless effort to hold back the escaping tears. “If you do love me, don't do this. Just let me walk away. Let me go back to my life. I can't do this with you. Ever . I'm married and I'm a mother and nothing you say you do can...”

He covers my mouth with his in a soft kiss.

I respond by slapping him across the face.

Time seems to stand still. My fuzzy brain and my tear filled eyes can barely register the hurt on his face. Yet it's there. And it's one hundred percent genuine.

“Eric...I'm sorry...I...I didn't mean to do that. I didn't mean to...”

“Just go,” he orders. “You want to go? Just go.”

“Just let me explain. Just let me...”

“Just go!” he barks, and jerks his head towards the exit. “I made a mistake. A huge mistake. I thought you were worth it. I thought you thought I was worth it.”

“Please...just let's go somewhere and talk about this. I didn't mean to hit you. I just...let's go somewhere and talk about this, okay?”

“No more talking. I've said everything I've needed to say. I won't bother you any more, Sloan. You won't hear from me ever again. I'll walk out of here and try and forget about you.”

“Eric...please...don't do this...” I whisper, and he leans in to press a kiss to my cheek.

“Maybe I'll still be waiting by the time you figure out what you really want,” he says, and with that, turns on his heel and stalks away.

It breaks my heart that he doesn't look back.