A/N - This is my first Reba fanfiction, so I'm not sure how well written this is. I am very self-conscious about things I write and usually think it's not worth showing people so I would deeply appreciate any and all reviews. Please don't hesitate! (Constructive criticism is welcomed as well.) I hope everyone enjoys it!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wiping the sleep from her eyes and not bothering to suppress a yawn, Reba stepped into the dimly-lit kitchen. Still drowsy, she failed to notice her visitor sitting quietly at the table as she shuffled her way to the coffee pot, her bare-feet padding against the tiled floor.

"I already made you a cup, Reba." Brock informed her from the breakfast table.

The familiar voice made her jump and she let out an involuntary gasp as she turned to face him. Running one hand through her unkempt hair, she steadied herself on the island, trying to recompose herself. Closing her eyes the briefest of moments, she waited for her soon-to-be ex-husband to either explain himself or just leave. It was too early for this. Way too early.

"I made toast too, if you're interested." He said sheepishly, trying to be helpful.

Her eyes flew open and for the first time he noticed they were raw from crying. "Brock...", she croaked out. Frowning, she shook her head and put a hand to her throat before clearing it and trying again. "Brock, I don't want your toast.", she retorted firmly.

"Well, in that case, I guess eggs are in order." He shrugged with a smile and got up from the table where he'd undoubtedly been waiting for a while. "How do you like them? Scrambled or sunny-side-up?", he asked casually, as though making breakfast for your ex were a weekly ritual performed by men everywhere.

Reba's mouth hung open as she stared at the man standing across the kitchen from her -- The man she'd been calling husband for some twenty odd years and the father of her children. It occured to her then as he was looking her over just exactly what she was wearing, or lack thereof, and tightened her grip on the blue terry-cloth robe. The same one he'd given her for their anniversary years ago. Ironically enough, the robe had lasted, the marriage had not.

"Brock, I know I should be surprised that you're in my kitchen at 6 o'clock --"

"Uh, six-thirty, actually.", he corrected her with a grin as she squinted up at the clock.

"Whatever.", she retorted, rolling her eyes. "Point is, I know I should be surprised that you're here...but I'm not.", Reba began, arms folded. "Why is that, Brock? You're not supposed to come around here anymore."

"Hey look, I'm trying okay? Just work with me here a minute, will you?", he said a little more defensively than he'd have liked, immediately regretting it.

Reba's eyes widened. "You're trying? Well, it's a little late for that, isn't it?", she spat. "I've been trying for the past year and a half!", she exclaimed. "Where were you?"

Brock put up his arms in surrender and struggled for the next thing to say. "I know...I know, Reba. I could've...well, I could've been there. You were still working on us, and I'd just given up. I'm sorry. Really, I am."

She looked away momentarily, wondering what it was he really wanted to talk about. "Where's Barbra Jean anyway?", Reba asked casually. "Isn't she usually skulking around in my bushes by now?", she asked, standing tip-toe and peering out the window, half expecting to see the blonde staring back up at her.

As he walked back from the table, Brock placed the coffee mug in her hands. "Let's...not talk about B.J. right now, okay?"

She took a long swallow. "Well that's an awfully big elephant in the room to ignore there, Brock.", she replied, smiling over the top of the cup. "No pun intended either.", Reba said with a laugh.

"Yeah. Leave it to you to make jokes, Reba. That's great.", he replied, frustrated.

She grinned. "Can't help it, Brock. Momma taught us to laugh at the hardships in life.", she shrugged. "But I don't even really have to try and laugh at Barbra Jean. She just...well, she just is what she is.", Reba said, smiling.

Brock scoffed and put his hands in the air, exasperated.

"Oh come on, Brock. Even you have to see the irony in all this!", Reba laughed.

"I don't see anything funny about this, Reba.", he replied, seriously.

"What?" She laughed again, making her way over to the table to sit down. "Tell me you remember how you first felt about her, Brock."

He frowned as he sat down across from her, his mind grasping at different memories from their past together.

Reba's mouth fell open again. "Oh come on, Brock! You thought she was the biggest, clumsiest goofball you'd ever met! Don't you remember? You were going to fire her the next day, but I...", her voice trailed off and her smile faded as realization dawned on her. "...But I stuck up for her...I thought she was sweet...I...well, I made you give her a second chance..." Staring down at her coffee, her lower lip slowly began to tremble.

Immediately Brock was on his feet, not really sure what to do. He could try to comfort her, or he could just stand by and be taken as insensitive. Either way he'd run the risk of her going after him with the nearest kitchen appliance. After a moment of debate, he carefully stepped forward and put a tentative hand on her shoulder. To his surprise though, it wasn't him that she pushed aside, but the coffee cup. Leaning over, she buried her face in her arms and began to cry. For a split second, Brock wish she'd just have hit him.

Out of habit or obligation, he wasn't sure which, he began massaging her shoulders. After a long while and just when he thought his legs were going to cave in, she came up for air and wiped her tears away with her sleeve. Brock stepped to the side and knelt down beside her. "Are you okay?", he asked quietly, his eyes sweeping over her tear streaked face.

She looked down, past Brock's feet. "Do you love her?", she whispered softly.

"What?", he asked blankly, caught off-guard.

She looked up at him. "Do you...love her?"