Part Three: Forward

"I think I need to go through this one alone," Eric said.

He was looking straight ahead, at the 'Eric Forman' door. It stood out from all the rest for some reason - it was painted black and had silver features. And Eric was sure it hadn't been there before he and his younger self had gone through Donna's door. It must've appeared now as a clue from the angel: this was his next step.

To his surprise, Younger Eric didn't argue.

"Okay," he said. He'd already started to wander further down the long, white hallway, glancing at each door as he passed. There was plenty there to keep him occupied.

Eric took a deep breath and sized up 'his' door one more time, before he set his hand on the doorknob and pushed it open. He had no idea what to expect on the other side.

The door was heavier than he expected. It swung closed behind him as soon as he'd stepped inside the dark entrance, and he stumbled forward, unable to see. He tripped over what felt suspiciously like a pair of gym shoes.

"Eric?"

It was Donna.

He blinked, his eyes still trying to rapidly adjust to the dark.

"Yeah," he said. "It's me."

He stepped out of what appeared to be a closet, and into a dimly lit bedroom. Donna was there, sitting up in bed. Looking at him. She had to be wondering what was going on. He stepped further into the room and was surprised at what he saw.

It wasn't what he thought her dorm room would look like - it was much bigger. Instead of a single twin bed or bunk beds, Donna slept in a full-sized bed that was even bigger than the one she'd used to have in her bedroom at Bob's. Her roommate wasn't anywhere to be seen.

As he moved further into the room he tried to make out details, but they were fuzzy. But he could tell that this space was very homey and lived in. Another surprise, considering she'd only moved into her dorm last week. Bob drove her to Madison and moved her in before he left for Florida. He must've helped Donna put up all these finishing touches - the billowy curtains, the row of oak bookcases.

Eric wondered what to say to her as he approached the bed, but like always, they communicated without words. Donna lifted the edge of the covers back and gestured for Eric to climb in bed next to her. He did, gratefully, and then sunk down into the comfortable mattress, unsure of what to do with his arms or how physically affectionate she'd allow him to be.

But she answered his silent question by lifting his arm and dropping it around her waist, nestling back against him while the ends of her red hair teased his face and neck. He tightened his arm around her when he realized her intention: she wanted him to hold her.

"I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Eric sighed with relief. It was strange, but these past few weeks, he'd felt even further from her than he had while he was in Africa. Like the physical distance was less, but the emotional distance was more. She must've felt it, too.

"How was it?"

Eric faltered. Did she mean - she couldn't know about his guardian angel, could she? About Younger Eric? Those were just figments of his imagination, a hallucination he was having while he was high. He paused a moment too long, thinking about how to respond.

"At least you got home before the rain," Donna continued, yawning. Eric hadn't noticed before, but she was right. A gentle rumbling in the distance shook the panes on the window next to them. There was a thunderstorm coming.

He frowned. "A thunderstorm in January? That's… weird."

Donna laughed. "January?" She turned around in his arms, her expression playful. "Are you drunk?"

"What? No."

"It's July, you loser." She poked his cheek playfully. The feeling wasn't sharp, but the ring that was on her finger caught a glint of light from underneath one of the doors as she moved her hand back underneath the covers, and it made Eric feel like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. "I think you need sleep," Donna continued, laughing.

"I - " Eric wavered, as he realized he'd been wrong. This wasn't Donna - not his Donna, from January 1980. She had red hair, too, not bottle blonde. Why hadn't he noticed?

Eric froze. He had another one of those crystalizing moments of certainty - he and Donna were married. This was their house. He knew it without needing to look down at his own left hand, but of course, he did. He wore a simple gold band on his ring finger. A wedding ring.

Donna was still talking about the storm, against him. If she'd noticed that he wasn't himself, she didn't let on. Streams of rain whipped against the wall of windows to the side of their bed but it felt safe and cozy underneath the covers. They were a pillowy green material, and Eric snuggled deeper underneath them - deeper into Donna. He wasn't intending to leave.

This was an oasis from the storm outside, and from the conflict they were dealing with right now in Eric's real life. Back there, Donna had moved on. Maybe she was still mad at him, holding onto some bitterness still from Africa. From the breakup. From his mistakes.

But here? In whatever place this was, and whatever year, Donna was happy with him. Very happy. Rubbing against his groin in a way that promised a lot more. He closed his arms around her tighter, and they both sighed.

After a while she became quiet, and then her breathing slowed against him. Even though it was the middle of the night, Eric didn't feel tired at all. Maybe it was the magic, or maybe it was just the opportunity to hold her in his arms again. He wasn't going to fall asleep and miss a single moment. The rise and fall of her body against his as she breathed, the faint fruity smell of her shampoo, the way the strands of her hair tickled his arms - Eric breathed it all in. Who knew when he'd be this close to her again?

Although he wanted to believe this was a glimpse of their future - ached for confirmation that he and Donna overcame it all and got married - Eric worried this was something else. Maybe a trick by the angel, letting him live out his deepest, most personal desires. Or maybe it was a kindness. Maybe the angel was giving Eric the chance he'd never get in real life - the chance to be with her like this. To say goodbye.

Abruptly, a noise from behind one of the doors jolted Eric and Donna both awake. It was a soft CLUNK, as if something had dropped to the floor. Donna half turned in his arms, but she didn't open her eyes.

"It's your turn," she said, groggily.

The noise came again - CLUNK - and Eric lifted himself from the bed and from her warmth ruefully. She wanted him to go see what it was.

He blinked and surveyed the room, able to see better now that his eyes had fully adjusted to the dim lighting.

There was a large oak dresser - it matched the bookshelves - across from where Eric stood, and it was cluttered with girly toiletries and a container of the aftershave he used. An overstuffed chair was next to that, and a beige bra was hung delicately over the back. A pair of worn men's dress shoes that looked to be his size were tucked under the chair. He glanced back at Donna's sleeping form, partially hidden underneath the fluffy covers, in awe. They did live here together.

But another CLUNK reminded Eric of the task at hand.

Two closed doors were on the opposite wall. He opened the first one, and it swung open to reveal a bathroom. The lights were off and nothing seemed out of order, so he closed the door again. He opened the one next to it, and it opened up to a hallway.

Eric stepped into the hallway gingerly and looked around. Thankfully, it was nothing like the blinding white hallway of doors the angel had sent him to before. This hallway was a soft beige, and the carpeting felt lush and new under Eric's feet as he walked. He blinked, scanning for movement. He turned the corner and there was a set of stairs, illuminated with a small circular night-light.

And there, finally, he saw the little noise-maker.

A small boy sat on the top step, clad in long-sleeved green pajamas. He looked no older than 2, maybe 3, and he had a dark brown bowl-cut. As he stepped closer the little boy looked up at him with big green eyes, and Eric felt an ocean tide of emotion that almost rendered him speechless.

This was his son. He knew it with every fiber of his being.

"Did the - " he forced himself to form words. "Did the storm scare you?" he asked.

The little boy nodded. He was clutching a frayed blue teddy bear in one hand and Eric smiled wistfully. It was his, from childhood.

"Come on," he said. "We'll go drink some water."

He took his son by the hand, and they walked carefully down the stairs. Even though he'd felt lost in this place mere minutes ago, now Eric knew exactly where to go. They navigated around a Tonka Truck at the foot of the stairs (possibly the source of the CLUNK-ing) and to the kitchen, just around the corner. Eric reached up to the cabinet over the sink, and produced a small blue sippy cup. Filling it with water from the tap and then holding it to the little boy's lips was, well - natural. Like he'd done this a million times. Like he was in his own home. Eric supposed in a strange way, he was.

The little boy finished his drink and started rubbing his eyes, and so Eric lifted him up and carried him back up the stairs on his hip. Tiredly, the boy rubbed his face against the sweater Eric wore, and the intimacy rocked his entire body.

His room was the second one off the stairs. Like so many things here, Eric just knew. He tucked the little boy into his racecar bed - and teddy, too - and then reached for Goodnight Moon. It was on the shelf next to the bed, and it was the little boy's favorite.

"In the great green room, there was a telephone," Eric began to read.

The little boy was fast asleep by the time Eric had reached the fourth page. Gingerly, Eric closed the book and set it back on the shelf where he'd found it. He backed out of the room slowly, but paused when he reached the door frame. He couldn't help but stare at the little boy - at his son. His little figure rose and fell steadily underneath his bright blue covers. Eric stood there for one minute, then two, just watching the little boy breathe.

He could've stayed and watched the little boy sleep for hours, if he didn't have Donna to get back to. He wondered if they could have sex in this… well, whatever this was. If it was a daydream, then they definitely could. Dirty thoughts started to prickle, and he grinned wickedly.

When he got back to the hallway, though, he wasn't alone anymore.

Eric had closed the door as gently as possible so he didn't wake the slumbering toddler, but now he yelped in fear, probably waking the boy anyway.

The figure stepped into the light, though, and Eric understood he had nothing to fear. He groaned. It was him. An older version of himself. Of course.

Eric sized up his older self wearily. He still had hair - that was the good news. A lot less of it, and it was streaked with silver, but there was still hair. He wore glasses now, and his face held wrinkles and stories that it didn't today. But other than that he looked… largely the same. Still skinny, Eric noted with slight disappointment. But his older self held his head high, his back straight, like he carried within himself a quiet confidence. Eric guessed that he was in his late 50s, or maybe early 60s. He inwardly gloated that he looked better than Red had.

"You got to meet Ben," his older self spoke, stepping forward. He smiled at Eric, kindly.

"B-Ben?" Eric felt his knees nearly buckle. He braced himself against the wall for support.

Older Eric nodded. "What did you think?" he asked softly.

"He's - he's perfect," Eric breathed. He had a son. His son's name was Ben.

"Oh, not when he's a teenager," Older Eric chuckled. His eyes twinkled. "But you'll love him anyway."

Eric couldn't imagine that little boy - the one he'd just read to sleep - as a mouthy teenager. He shook his head, as if to clear the swarm of questions so thick he longed to swat them away like mosquitos. "So this is all - this is real?" he choked out what seemed like the most important one. "This is my future?"

His older self studied him carefully over the rim of his glasses. "That's… sort of up to you. Isn't it?"

Eric shook his head, frustrated. "What does that mean?"

Older Eric poised his fingertips together leisurely. He didn't match Eric's sense of urgency, and that frustrated Eric too. "We live here in the possibility," he explained. "Me, and Donna, and Ben, an - "

"The possibility," Eric interrupted, his eyebrows narrowed.

"That's right," Older Eric nodded, patient. "Other ones exist." He hesitated. "They're… darker. But I can show you them, if you want."

"No," Eric shook his head. Definitely not. "I've seen enough," he told his older self. He turned around and started back down the hallway, intending to go back the way he'd come. Back to Donna. "I choose this."

"Wait!" Older Eric called after him, but Eric wasn't waiting. "You can't go back!"

Watch me, Eric thought.

But the faster he ran, the more distorted the room became. The walls started to cave in, and they roiled like mirrors in a funhouse. He stretched his legs and ran faster, pushed harder, his lungs burning with effort now, but the door back to the bedroom with Donna didn't get any closer. Instead it seemed like the harder he pushed, the further away it got.

"Ah!" he screamed, falling now. His foot tripped over something - a Tonka truck - and he tumbled through an endless, gravity-less pit of darkness. Eric tried to squeeze his eyes shut, but the feelings and memories pierced through everything, surrounded him, became him. Through the tumult, he realized he was back in the 'Donna' room from the long, white hallway. His vision wasn't clear. It pitched and dipped in and out of focus, but memories started to play again. They flashed behind his closed eyelids, unescapable.

They were fishing with their dads when they were 7. They stood on a dock, flanked by Red and Bob, and both reeled in fish at the same time. But Donna's looked like it could eat his for a snack. The room lurched uncontrollably again, knocking Eric over to his side. The next memory came through in peels, broken up, like an old destroyed film reel. The Vista Cruiser was parked at the airport, he and Donna sat in the front seat. Saying goodbye. Donna leaned in to kiss him, but the video paused as soon as their lips connected and skipped. Suddenly, Donna was alone in the front seat. She was crying. Crying really, really hard. The sound of her sobbing was amplified and started to reverberate all around Eric. He was spinning again - spinning, spinning.

But he fought - kicked his foot out and connected with something, hard.

After a moment, the spinning stopped and he stabilized. Donna's crying slowly faded away. A new memory had started.

Donna stood in the kitchen - it was the kitchen from this house. Eric recognized the sink, and the cabinet where he'd gotten the cup for the little boy. For Ben.

Donna stood in the kitchen with Ben, the island counter in front of them messy with flour, dough, and various shaped cookie cutters. Donna swirled the tip of her index finger in some of the flour, and then reached out to playfully tap Ben's nose. The memory - and Ben and Donna - twisted away from him sharply, but Eric fought to stay again. It snapped back into focus for just another split second. Ben began to shriek with laughter, and Donna moved around the side of the counter to tickle him. Her shirt swelled - her belly swelled - in a way that could only mean one thing.

Eric gasped, and the memory twisted away again. This time it was gone for good. The beige of the hallway returned to focus - his older self still standing there patiently - but Eric still longed to return to Donna. To bed. To this life he'd apparently built with her. He'd never wanted anything more. Did the dumb angel hear that? Huh?

"Please," he moaned from the floor, where he was a crumpled heap. "Please. Let me go back to them."

Someone offered him a hand, and when he didn't move to take it, they hoisted him to his feet themselves. It was Older Eric.

"You can't go back," he said, that same twinkle in his eye.

Eric resented it, resented him.

"But you can go forward."