A/N: This is what happens when I listen to guilty pleasure TV while I do housework. And I can't help it, the Brock/Reba/Barbra Jean dynamic on this show continues to amuse and fascinate me.

Also, my 9-1-1 WIP is refusing to cooperate, so I needed to write something else in the meantime.

Title inspired by Idina Menzel's song "I Do"


"Do you two still love each other?"

The therapist's ridiculous question echoes in Reba's mind as she drives home, her left leg bouncing anxiously while she thinks it through. Of course she still loves Brock, she reasons. After all, she wouldn't have wasted twenty years being married to someone she didn't love, and she can't possibly be expected to just turn those feelings off like a light switch. However, that doesn't mean that she's still in love with him. That went out the window the second she found out he'd cheated on her.

She's not in love with him, she's over him.

She is.

She definitely, really is.

Reba sighs as she pulls into her driveway.

Stupid therapist

In a merciful stroke of luck, nobody is home when she comes in the front door, and she wastes no time climbing the stairs and making a beeline for her bedroom. Intent on taking a hot bath to distract herself from her thoughts, she sheds her clothes and pulls on her bathrobe, then makes her way to the bathroom. She's busy adding bath oils to the running water when she hears her front door slam. Footsteps go from one end of the first floor to the other and then stop at the foot of the stairs.

"Reba!"

Brock. Damn it.

Reba holds as still as she possibly can, careful not to make the slightest bit of noise. Her car is very obviously outside, but with any luck, he'll think she took a walk somewhere.

"Reba," Brock hollers as he climbs the stairs, sounding exasperated, "I can hear the water running!"

Oh. Right.

Reba rolls her eyes at herself and reaches over to turn the knobs off, then turns toward the open bathroom door. Her ex-husband stands off to one side of the door frame with a hand thrown over his eyes. His knuckles make a sharp rap on the wooden door.

"You decent?"

She takes her time rising to her feet, then walks toward him and sighs. "Yeah, yeah. I'm covered, but I'm tryin' to take a hot bath. What do you want?"

He uncovers his eyes, drops his hand to his side, and gives her an incredulous look.

"Don't you think we should talk about what happened?"

She puts her hands on her hips and glares.

"The only thing that happened was you and your therapist blamin' me for all the problems in your marriage. The one that doesn't even include me!"

"We didn't blame you," he argues, "weren't you there when he told me I was spending too much time over here?"

"Yeah. And I still can't get rid of you."

"Reba"

"What? Look, I think the best thing for you to do is to quit comin' over here. Stay home with Barbra Jean and figure yourselves out. When you want to see the kids, you can do it away from this house until y'all fix your problems. Just leave me out of it."

Brock sighs and runs a hand over his face.

"I don't need time," he tells her confidently, "I know what the problem is."

She nods. "Well, good. Then you can go home to your wife and fix it."

He gives her a long look.

"Reba, I can't fix it," he tells her quietly. "I've tried and I can't…"

He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks her square in the eye.

"Reba, I'm still in love with you."

She closes her eyes.

"You did not just say that."

The silence is deafening, and when she opens her eyes again, he's just standing there looking at her.

"I'm not having this conversation," Reba says as she roughly pushes past him and stalks off toward her bedroom.

Brock tries to catch her elbow as she goes but misses and settles for trailing after her.

"Don't you ever think about us? How good we were together?"

She's still turned away from him, slightly bent at the waist with a hand on her dresser for support because she's afraid that without it she'll topple to the floor.

He pauses when she doesn't answer, and if Reba's not mistaken, he injects a hint of pleading into his next sentence.

"Haven't you ever thought about tryin' again?"

That does it. She gathers herself together, straightens up and turns toward him.

"Of course I have, Brock!" she yells at him, relishing the step backward he takes away from her when hit with the full force of her frustration. She sighs and starts again, his time without the raised voice.

"Do you think you comin' over here all the time doesn't affect me?

The closer he gets the weaker her resolve becomes, and Reba can't help but to reach out and take both of his hands in hers. She brings them to her lips and kisses his knuckles once, making sure he's watching her carefully. She gives him a watery smile.

"Brock," she says, her voice wavering, "go home."

She drops his hands and walks around him toward the bedroom door, but this time he manages to take advantage of their proximity to reach out and gently stop her before she gets too far. Before she knows it, he's got her pinned against the wall, one of his big hands above each of her shoulders, his head bowed in supplication.

"You are home," he tells her quietly.

Reba isn't sure whether she wants to hit him or kiss him. After a moment she settles for clearing her throat. He looks up at her and she softens, taking his head in her hands.

"You made your choice, Brock. Henry needs his daddy and Barbra Jean, well, she needs you too."

"And our kids don't need me?"

"Of course they do, Brock. They're older though, and they understand. Henry's still little. He needs you to be there for him, every day."

"You still have the robe I got you," he says, as if just now noticing her state of undress.

Reba rolls her eyes, recognizing the stalling tactic for what it is.

"I was just gettin' in the bathtub," she reminds him, "and it's a perfectly good robe. No use throwin' it out just because you're the one that bought it."

He silently reaches out and fiddles with one of the ends of the robe's sash, then gently tugs. The robe falls open, and Reba is left more naked than she's been in his presence in years.

Reba knows she ought to protest. She should pull away; demand to know what he thinks he's doing, slap him or something. Instead, she finds herself rooted to her spot on the floor, transfixed by the way he's looking at her, like it's years ago and things between them never fell apart.

His thumb gently brushes over the skin of her belly near her hip, and her breath catches at the fire that spreads warmly through her abdomen. Reba bites her lip, hoping he didn't hear, but he grins at her slyly, damn him, and he takes her reaction as an invitation to slip an arm around her.

His lips graze hers as he pulls her closer, and she tips her head up slightly to meet them. The kiss is long and slow and lingering, just the way she remembers, and Reba finds herself unintentionally smiling against his mouth before she comes to her senses. She puts her hands flat against his chest and gently pushes him away, feeling her heart fill with longing as she does so. Brock makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat when she looks up at him sadly.

"We can't do this," she whispers. Her throat is tight with tears, but she manages to keep them at bay. "I won't hurt Barbra Jean the way you two hurt me."

Brock blinks at her, as if that was the last thing he expected to come out of her mouth. "You don't even like Barbra Jean," he reminds her.

Reba's not sure how to respond to that, mostly because her feelings toward the other woman are complicated at best, so she stays quiet and focuses on tying her robe back up. Whatever spell was hanging over them in the moment is gone now, and Brock seems to realize he's lost because he changes tactics again.

"She and I, we're not going to work," he pleads. "Don't you understand that? It was a mistake from the beginning, me leaving you for her."

Reba shakes her head at him ruefully. "I know you don't really believe that. You love her, I know it. You know it. You're just having a hard time right now, and I'm familiar. I'm comfortable. That's it."

"You're wrong," he says despondently.

She sighs, gathering strength. "No, I'm not. Maybe we couldn't have stopped what happened to us, but you and Barbra Jean, you still have a chance to save it, and you have to try."

Brock opens his mouth to argue, but she cuts him off before he can.

"No," she says decisively, looking him square in the eye, "you haven't tried. Not with you avoiding her by being over here all the time. All the therapy in the world isn't gonna help you if that's the only time you ever see her."

"Reba," he tries again weakly. He sounds so pitiful that it takes all her self-control to keep from reaching out and hugging him.

"You need to be home with her, with them," she tells him, steeling herself against his reaction. "You need to be present. You need to talk to her, and you need to try. You can't keep running from everything that doesn't automatically go your way."

Reba pauses for a moment, waiting to make sure he's really listening before continuing.

"And if it doesn't work out, I can't be the reason why. We had our time, Brock. This needs to stop here, do you understand me?"

He nods, finally seeming to take her seriously. "You're closing the door," he says, repeating her line from their therapy session back at her.

"Yeah," she nods, "I am. I can't keep doing this with you. It's too much. It hurts too much. No matter what happens with you and Barbra Jean, our door is behind that fence and the brick wall and reinforced with concrete. We both need to move on. For good."

"Ok," Brock says, "ok. Yeah. You're right." He rubs at his forehead with his fingers, as if attempting to relieve pent-up pressure there. "I'm sorry," he tells her honestly, "I don't want to keep hurting everyone. This is all just so hard."

She smiles a little. "I know it, but you're tough. You'll make it through."

He sighs deeply. "Why are you still so good to me?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Reba chuckles. "Oh, I don't know. I think because, even with everything that's happened over the past few years, I really do want you to be happy."

Brock snorts at that, then pulls her into a hug. "You really are an amazing woman, Reba."

"I know," she replies, giving him a quick squeeze before releasing him, "and my reward for that is to get back to the bath I was fixin' to take before you barged in here and interrupted me."

"I guess I can't argue with that," he says with a chuckle. "Go ahead, I'm going to go try to get Barbra Jean to talk to me."

She eyes him seriously for a moment. "Good. And you'll be ok, really?"

"Yeah," Brock nods, "I'll be ok now. Thanks."

"You're welcome," she says with a sweet smile, "now get the heck out of my house."