A/N: This story takes place eight years after the series ended, so I tried making both Eric and Jackie a bit more mature, while still keeping the trademarks of their personalities. I hope that resonated here. Also, I'm probably the only person who can willingly add angst to a light-hearted comedy, so my apologies in advance. Though in my defense, this actually isn't so bad, outside of some light self-pity. Enjoy!

CH 1: An Unexpected Reunion

The year was 1988, and it was Eric Forman's 28th birthday. So far, the 80s was proving to be a cruel mistress. Despite his job as a traveling salesman, Eric occasionally found time to return to Point Place for a nightcap with the gang. Such was the case on this night, except for one very important factor: none of his friends were anywhere to be found.

Numbly, Eric finished the remainder of his whiskey and set a ten dollar bill onto the bar top. The bartender appeared sympathetic, but, seeing how he had a similar demeanor to his father, Eric doubted that he would be giving any pep talks like he'd seen in the movies. Not that he wanted any.

"Need another drink, kid?"

"Sure, why not?" he drawled. "It is my birthday, after all."

"No shit, really? Well hell, happy birthday, kid! This one's on the house."

Despite his growing tunnel vision (he'd always been somewhat of a lightweight), Eric accepted the drink and knocked it back with gusto. "Happy birthday to me," he muttered under his breath.

The door opened then, and a gust of wind followed. The patrons grumbled their displeasure, but the haughty huff and the following heels that clicked with purpose proved the newcomer didn't care about their discomfort. The woman had a seat at the bar alongside him, shivering in her massive fur coat as she blew on her gloved hands.

Eric's eyes widened. "Jackie?"

She looked up then, seemingly disgusted for being addressed, only to instantly break into a big grin. "Oh, my God, Eric – hi! What are you doing here?"

"I invited you," he sourly reminded her. "I invited everyone, but they're all a no-show." Except you. Just my luck, he mentally added.

"Um, no, you definitely didn't," Jackie said. "My invitation must've gotten lost in the mail. That seemed to happen a lot whenever we were kids." She wrinkled her nose. "Why do you smell like booze?"

Now it was Eric's turn to appear put-off. "Gee, I dunno, maybe because we're in a bar?"

"God, why are you so sour? It was just a question." Sliding out of her coat, Jackie draped it primly across her lap and leaned forward, a sudden light bulb seeming to go off over her head. "Oh, my God, it's your birthday!"

"Give the lady in pink a prize," Eric grumbled. Motioning to the bartender for a refill, he ignored Jackie's scrutiny as he shifted in his seat. After a moment, he finally regarded her in exasperation. "Could you maybe stop staring at me?"

"I can't help it," Jackie said. "It's been what, five years since I've last seen you? And you finally did it!" She mockingly pinched his cheek. "You grew some facial hair! And it looks really good, too – congratulations!"

Shaking her off, Eric nursed his new drink with a scowl. "If you're only going to make fun of me, I'd really appreciate it if you'd just send me a postcard so I can throw it in the trash. I'm not in the mood, Jackie."

Her brow knit in surprise. "Well! From what I can tell, I'm the only real friend you've got, Eric Forman, so you'd better be nice to me!"

"Or else what?" Slurring over his words, he turned his head and finally softened when their eyes locked. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I just…I'm really sorry."

"Jesus, what's happened to you, Eric?"

"Nothing I'd care to repeat," he mumbled. "But you've done really well for yourself, I hear. The whole news anchor thing seems to have paid off."

Jackie nodded, appearing a bit self-conscious as Eric stared her down. "I came here for a nightcap after my latest filming, actually."

Eric mirrored her nod. "I'm surprised you didn't marry that weatherman who proposed."

"He wasn't right for me." She thought a moment, debated on mentioning Donna Pinciotti, then promptly voted against it. "Are you still doing that gross salesman schtick, or whatever?"

"More or less."

"Eww." She nudged him, hoping to earn a smile, but when all Eric did was mope, Jackie threw up her hands in exasperation. "Okay, this is why nobody came, Eric! You're boring. And when you're not too busy feeling sorry for yourself, you're double boring, 'cause then you're Mr. Straight and Narrow!" She slapped his arm. "You can either sit here moping like a bump on a log, or you can come out with me and change that."

Eric blinked at her in shock. "Wait…you think I'm boring?"

"Everyone does, Eric. You're vanilla personified."

"Gee…thanks."

She nudged his arm. "C'mon, let's go. I can drive you someplace fun."

"Jackie, I am not going to the mall."

"Okay, fine! We can go…um…" She waved a hand. "What's something poor people do?"

Eric scowled. "Bowl? Ice skate? Maintain an actual soul?"

"Yes! Bowling! Let's go do that." She rose then and tugged on his arm. "It's your birthday, Eric, so at least stop being lame for this one day of the year!"

Despite his annoyance, Eric found himself paying the bartender and following Jackie outside toward her car. "Just for a little while," he warned.

"Great! I'll drive."

"Eww." Jackie gazed around them in displeasure, clear disgust on her face as she took in their surroundings. "I am not wearing those hobo shoes, and I am not touching those balls. They've been used by everyone!"

"Um, you kind of have to, Jackie," Eric said, choosing to ignore the potential wrongness of her comment. "If you don't, you can't bowl."

"But I'm too pretty! That stuff would just clash with my clothes!" Spotting Eric's exasperation, she gave a soft huff and bustled over to the supply stand. "Fine," she snapped, "I said we'd do something fun, and sometimes fun requires sacrifice."

"On both ends," Eric muttered.

After ordering their shoes, Jackie picked up her pair by her thumb and forefinger, holding them out as far away from herself as possible. "This is so disgusting," she complained. "A million feet have been in these!"

Slipping into his shoes, Eric sardonically said, "But Jackie, your sweat is so perfect that it'll bleach your pair and restore them to perfection."

Jackie gasped, though out of true offense. "Who told you I sweat? Women don't sweat, Eric, we glisten!"

Choosing to ignore her commentary, he took hold of his bowling ball and approached the line. "I take it this is your first time?" When he met with her snarky gaze, he wryly agreed, "Yeah, that was a dumb question, sorry." Aimless, he rolled the ball and watched it bounce, judder, then forlornly fall into the left gutter.

Jackie snorted. "Well, it looks like Mr. Forman wasn't kidding when he said you're awful at sports."

"I am not awful! I'm just…not great." Frowning, Eric indicated the rack. "You try."

"Um, no. I just got a manicure, and there's no way that I-"

"But Jackie, it's my birthday." Eric's tone was mocking, but he was pleased to see her almost disdainfully remove her rings, then lift up a shiny purple ball.

Despite her piss-poor stance (and the fact she refused to stick her fingers inside the holes), Jackie somehow managed to knock down all the pins save for two. "Wow!" she chirped. "So it is true – I really am good at everything!"

"Gee, I'd hate to see that go to your head or something," Eric quipped. He'd never admit it, but his spirits were slowly starting to lift. "You want a pizza or something?"

"You mean from that gross concession stand?" When he nodded, Jackie gave a compliant shrug of the shoulders. "Sure. Maybe it'll energize you to the point of actually being a worthy opponent."

Giving her a dismissive wave, Eric headed over to the concession stand and ordered a mini pizza. He knew Jackie always whined about carbs, so there was no sense in going overboard. With the pizza done and a pitcher of beer in hand, he turned and headed back toward their alley. That was when he realized they were no longer alone.

"I said no."

"Aw, c'mon, why not? All you TV chicks are the same – all flashy and showin' off your goods on screen, but then whenever you meet your adoring public, you suddenly get all coy."

"Is there a problem here?" Eric frowned, now setting down the food with shaking hands. He could sense a fight on the horizon, and if there was one thing he hated, it was confrontation.

The rough-looking, muscled young man waved a hand. "This don't concern you, prick. Me an' Ms. Burkhart here are just havin' a conversation."

"Well, actually-"

"Eric, it's okay." Sparing him a cautious glance, Jackie folded her arms and entreated, "I'm only going to ask you once more to please leave."

"Oh-ho, so now you're tellin' me I need to go?"

Eric sighed. "C'mon, pal…"

"I'm not your pal, buddy." Now seizing Jackie by the elbow, he yanked her forward. "C'mon, ya slut, I won't ask again."

That did it. Eric wasn't sure what the hell came over him, but he charged the (much larger) man and decked him across the face. The ruffian tottered, stunned, before smashing his fist squarely into Eric's left eye. He could hear Jackie scream as he went toppling to the floor.

Other patrons moved to intervene, so the punk took off running.

"Eric?" Dropping down to her knees alongside him, Jackie's hands fluttered toward his face as he winced and struggled to sit upright. "Oh Eric, why did you do that? He was so much bigger than you…"

"You're telling me," he muttered. With a hiss of pain, Eric touched the tender, swelling flesh around his eye and squinted up at her with a weak smile. "You seem to have a history of men getting into fistfights over you, if I recall."

"It's a curse," she agreed, now mirroring his smile. "C'mon, we should go. Where are you staying?"

"The Whitefern Motel."

"I'll drive you."

When they pulled into the sparse, less than pleasant-looking driveway of Eric's motel, Jackie immediately made a face. "Eric, you can't stay here."

"Well, why not?"

"Because it's gross and creepy, and a real hero deserves to sleep in a real bed." Jackie chewed her lip before releasing a breath. "I want you to come stay with me."

Eric balked (or tried to, given his swollen eye). "But Jackie, what happened to your mandate against 'letting poor people into your house'? I'm pretty sure I'd clash with the walls or something."

"Don't be stupid, Eric. You're staying with me, and I won't hear another word about it." As she pulled out of the parking lot with grim, staunch determination on her face, she failed to notice that Eric was smiling.

"This is…wow."

"I know, right? Just make yourself at home."

Hanging her coat up onto a hook, Jackie fluffed her hair as she began leading Eric through the living room. "The guest bedroom is back here – watch your step, 'cause I don't need you touching my furniture."

"Well, so much for 'make yourself at home,'" he muttered.

Stepping into a room at the end of the hall, Jackie flipped on the light switch and waved her arm akin to Vanna White. "Here we are! All the sheets are clean, and you have your very own bathroom. If you need anything…well…I'd rather you didn't bother me, 'cause I have a very big day tomorrow."

Eric couldn't help but chuckle. "I'm sure I'll be fine, Jackie. Thanks."

The typical hard slant to her eyes finally softened and she smiled, lifting a hand to lightly trace along the bruising beneath his left eye. Eric flinched and she frowned. "Does it hurt?"

"Well, when you press on it like that, yes, amazingly it does."

"Sorry… Did you need some ice?"

"Maybe just a little."

Leading Eric into her well-equipped kitchen, Jackie withdrew some ice from the freezer before wrapping it up in a dish towel. "Sit down," she instructed.

Obediently, Eric had a seat at the large island, wincing as she gently pressed the towel over his eye.

"There," she soothed, "that should do it."

Squinting up at her from beneath the cloth, Eric's hand came over her own as an indicator that he could hold it himself. "You mentioned having a long day ahead of you," he reminded her. "Please don't stay up on my account."

Hesitantly dropping her hand from his, Jackie nodded and forced a smile to her lips. "You're right. I'll just…see you in the morning then." Before he could protest, she took his face between her hands and pressed a warm, careful kiss over the throbbing swell of his eye. "Thanks again, Eric. Sleep well."

Far too stunned to properly reply, Eric watched her long after she'd disappeared from the doorway. He would deny it later on, of course, but after she'd left, he'd felt the soft, gentle press of her lips for hours.

A/N: I foresee this story being either two or three chapters long. This was more of a challenge to myself than anything, so it's not going to be terribly in depth since the main point was (sad to say) to write some smut. I'm busy with work and other fanfics, but reviews do (naturally) help with my inspiration. Hope you enjoyed! :)