At the beginning of last year I got a PM from someone saying that I should write another Reba fic, since I've been a little occupied with Will and Grace for a while. So, this is for crazy4reba. I didn't forget about you! lol

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No, it wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible. She paced back and forth in her bedroom, allowing the therapy session to pass through her mind once more. It had been nearly an hour since she walked out on a question she had been asking herself for years.

Do you two still love each other?

She couldn't answer; she only restrained a gasp and looked to Brock. She hoped he would answer so she wouldn't have to, but he didn't. He only sat there on that couch, grasping for a good enough response, or a good lie. He had his lying face on; she could tell what was going to happen next if Barbra Jean hadn't walked through the door. But she ran, like a child.

A sharp knock upon the door brought her from her pacing. She stopped and stared, wondering who it could be. Was it Brock, coming to confront her? God, she hoped not. She wouldn't be able to face him until she knew for sure how she felt. But what if it was Barbra Jean? Did Brock tell her about what happened? Surely he kept it to himself. The door opened.

"Oh, Cheyenne, what's up?" She took a deep breath, relieved that it was only her eldest daughter. Perhaps she would help ease the tension.

"Are you okay? You haven't said a word since you got back from Dad's therapist."

"I'm fine. It was just ridiculous, that's all." She smiled, trying to look convincing, and Cheyenne seemed to buy it.

"Well, Van and I are taking Elizabeth to the movies, and Jake called and said he was going to spend the night at Josh's house."

"I'm going to be all alone?" She didn't want to be alone. She wanted to have some distractions from her mind. It was always the same. She would think herself into a panic, if she wasn't distracted for a bit. Time was a necessity for her to begin thinking logically.

"I thought you liked being alone." She leaned forward and pecked her mother's cheek in a form of goodbye. "We'll be back later, okay? Love you." She left, and, a few minutes later, Reba heard the door of the car close before they drove away. She was alone.

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She was sitting on the couch, glass of red wine in her hand and a soft blanket over her legs. After cleaning the house she decided that a glass of wine might help to calm her nerves, but she wasn't sure it was helping. Suddenly, she looked up to the door as it opened and Brock walked into her living room. It was impossible for her to speak at the moment.

He shrugged before cautiously making his way over to the couch, taking a seat next to her. Silence, it was all around, making the awkwardness between them feel unbearable. His eyes met hers after a moment, and he turned to face her. She placed her glass of wine on the table, calming herself.

"Reba, I know we should talk about what happened earlier, but I don't know what to say." She licked her lips and sighed. His voice was shaky and full of nerves, making her somewhat thankful. She was glad that he was as nervous as she. It would make it easier to relate to one another.

"Nothing happened, though. We don't really need to talk, right?" She picked up her glass of wine and finished it in a quick gulp, hoping to cushion her mind.

"Do you still love me?" She almost choked at his words.

"What the hell kind of a question is that?" She tried to stand to walk away, but he took hold of her hand, keeping her seated next to him. "Just stop. I want you to listen to me, okay? Nothing happened, nothing is going to happen. You are going to work things out with Barbra Jean, and everything will go back to normal."

"I am planning on working things out with Barbra Jean, but I want to know your answer."

"It wouldn't make a difference. I don't have an answer. Just let it go, please." He nodded, knowing how crazy the day had felt for all of them. When he stood to go, however, she didn't let go of his hand. She stood to meet his eyes for a moment, wanting to try a sort of experiment. She leaned forward hugged him tightly, feeling his hands move up and down her back in a comforting motion. After pulling away, patting his shoulder in form of goodbye, she took her glass from the table and walked towards the kitchen. He took it has his cue to leave, but he couldn't just yet.

She didn't realize that he had followed until she turned around and saw his pleading eyes staring into her own. From the hug only, she knew that she was still attracted to him, but she couldn't have said if it was a feeling of love. They were married for twenty years, and she had once loved him, but she was just confused at the moment.

He walked forward and hurriedly pressed his lips against hers, taking her by complete surprise. She sighed, placing her hands on his face, pulling him close. He felt her teeth touch his bottom lip, just for a split second, before their lips parted. Just as quickly as she had given in, she pushed him away, and the palm of her hand made its way across his face without her consent. The sound of the slap resounded loudly between the walls as they stood staring at one another in shock.

"I'm sorry."

"No, Brock, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" He silenced her apologies with a wave, shaking his head. Oddly enough, he understood her reaction, but it felt so good to kiss her, to feel her lips moving against his own. He wouldn't have been able to resist if he tried. For that brief moment it felt like old times.

"I'll talk to you later, Reba." He left just as abruptly as he had appeared, leaving the sound of his voice whispering her name and the feeling of his lips on her own. She took a deep breath and looked after him. Her legs felt like water, and she wanted him to come back. She couldn't help it. She wanted him to rush back to her arms and rip her clothes from her body. She didn't care about anything; all she wanted at the moment was him.

But she wasn't allowed to want him. She wasn't allowed to kiss him, and she had no clue what he was thinking. He kissed her. He was the one who made the first move, and it made the situation between them worse, simply because she didn't know how to respond.

She slammed her hand against the counter and went upstairs to bed. It may have only been eight o'clock, but she didn't quite feel up to battling her mind. She needed help.