A/N: You guys responded much better to the last chapter than I thought you would. I'm really, really happy about that. Anyway, here's chapter ten. I'll be taking a break after chapter 12. I've been neglecting my other fics. They're sad and lonely, so I'm going to give them some love. Alexandri

If Grace was surprised to see Joan back early from her weekend in New York, she kept it to herself. Joan pretended like nothing had happened, as if she and Adam hadn't decided to split up. However, during the oddest times—the middle of lunch, walking to class, badminton practice—a niggling doubt of whether she'd made the right decision would creep into her mind.

One afternoon after yet another doubt, Joan made a pact to be decisive, to believe that she had made the right decision. Finding an empty box in the laundry room, she took it back to her dorm room and silently began packing away Adam's things, the letters he'd written to her, the small gifts he'd given, the sketches he'd done. All of these things went into the box. Finally, she closed up the flaps and stuck it on the top shelf of her closet. Out of sight, out of mind, she thought.

Grace must have noticed that the room looked somehow emptier because, two nights later, as they both sat doing homework, Grace piped up with, "Is everything okay?"

Joan focused on her statistics book, the words suddenly swimming before her eyes. "Why wouldn't everything be okay?" she asked, voice wavering ever so slightly.

"'Cause all of Rove's stuff is gone," Grace said.

Joan turned to find Grace staring at her. "W-We've agreed to n-not see e-each other."

"What?" Grace looked flabbergasted.

"I really don't want to talk about it," Joan said before fleeing the room. As she exited the dorm and took a deep breath of fresh air, a voice called to her.

"Hey, Joan."

"Oh, hey, Eric," she said politely, avoiding his gaze. He was the last person she wanted to see at the moment.

He peered into her eyes. "You okay?"

She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yup. Fine. Need to go to the library," she said hurriedly.

"I can, uh, walk with you. If you'd like."

Joan shook her head. "No, that's okay." Without another word, she turned and headed to the quad. Once there, she really didn't know what to do with herself. Sighing deeply, she settled on a bench facing the library. For the millionth time, she wondered if she'd done the right thing, wondered if Adam was anywhere near as miserable as she was. The sun was still sinking into the horizon and Joan shivered as the temperature began to drop. She'd run out of her room without even a scarf. Despite the coolness of the evening, she sat and stared vacantly at the library.

"This seat taken?" A voice broke her from her reverie and she looked up to find Goth God standing beside her bench.

"Oh, it's You," she said absentmindedly, wrapping her arms around herself.

He removed His leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders before joining her on the bench.

"Did I do the right thing?" Joan asked, never tearing her eyes from the library.

"Do you think you did the right thing?" He replied.

"Can't You just give me a straight answer for once?" she said bitterly.

Goth God sighed. "You know I can't. The choices you make . . ."

"Determine your destiny and who you are. Blah, blah, blah," Joan spat, her sorrow and doubt welling up inside her yet again. "None of that makes it any better. None of that changes the fact that I love him and I miss him. None of that changes the fact that I broke his heart. None of that changes the look on his face when . . ." A sob escaped before she could stop it and she covered her mouth with her hand, willing herself not to cry in the middle of campus. A part of Joan felt ashamed for lashing out at Him. If she were fair and honest, she knew that none of what happened was His fault. But she felt so much, too much, and He was the only one who'd really understand.

"I'm sorry it hurts so much, Joan," He said softly.

"Then make it stop," Joan begged, her voice small.

"It doesn't work that way," He said gently. She felt the bench shift and she looked up just in time to watch Him stride away. Realizing He'd left His coat, she pulled it tighter around her, warding off the chill.

A week later, Joan was supposed to be doing her statistics problem set. Her study group was meeting tomorrow night and they'd give her hell if she didn't have anything done. Instead, she found her gaze drawn to the top shelf of her closet. Sighing, she dragged her desk chair over and climbed up on it. Hesitantly, she grabbed the box, climbed down and sat on her bed. Fingers trembling, she opened the box. A sketch of her smiling shyly was the first thing she saw. Tears began to fill her eyes as the memory of that night unfolded in her mind.

They'd sat by the campfire, tired after their day exploring the Grand Canyon. Grace and Luke had already gone to sleep; it was Grace's turn to drive first shift the next day with Luke reluctantly playing navigator. Adam had suggested they take advantage of the time alone. They'd made out for the next fifteen minutes until he'd surfaced for air and asked her to pose for him. As he'd opened his ever-present sketchbook to a fresh page, she'd tried to make herself presentable. He'd told her stop. Embarrassed, she could only imagine what she looked like, she'd shaken her head and tried to smooth her hair into place.

"Jane," he'd said. She'd looked up at the odd tone of his voice. His dark eyes had seemed to burn with a desire she'd only glimpsed before. A deliberate, blatantly sensual half-smile stretched his lips, causing a stirring of lust that she'd never experienced. Blushing, she'd turned her eyes to the fire and, seconds later, she'd heard the scratch of his pen on paper.

Closing the box, Joan sniffled and tried to keep the sadness at bay. Once again, she found herself questioning her decision.

A knock on the door interrupted Joan's near breakdown. She wiped hastily at her eyes and opened the door. Ben was standing there, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Hey, Joan," he said, trying to sound casual.

"Hey, Ben," she replied, trying to keep her voice from wavering.

"Is, uh, Grace around?" he asked, taking a quick peek around her. "I was hoping that…" He broke off as he realized that tears were leaking out of the corner of her eyes. "Joan, are you okay?"

"I…I'm fine," she stammered. "Grace isn't here. But I'll tell her you stopped by." She had almost turned completely around before a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"What happened?" he asked gently.

"N-Nothing," she insisted.

"I know we're not close friends or anything, but I can tell that something is wrong. What is it?" His soft voice was her undoing and she found herself sobbing uncontrollably while trying to explain what had happened. Without warning, she threw her arms around his middle and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Ben stood stock still for several moments before his arms finally wound around her.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay," he said, trying to soothe her.

"N-No, it's not," she wailed. "Adam and I b-broke up."

"Oh, Joan, I'm sorry," Ben apologized. He patted her awkwardly on the back as she explained what had happened on her ill-fated trip to New York. "I…I don't know what to say," he admitted when she finished talking.

"Girardi, have you seen…" The door flung open and Grace's voice trailed off as she caught sight of Joan in Ben's arms. Instinctively, Joan stepped away from Ben. "I'm sorry I interrupted," she said stiffly before turning and fleeing.

"Ben, I'm sorry," Joan said. "You should go after her, explain…"

He shook his head. "No. I like Grace. A lot. She knows that I like her. But I'm…I'm tired of chasing her."

"Grace is just…"

Another shake of his head. "Let's not talk about Grace, okay? Do you want to grab a cup of coffee or something?"

"No, I have a lot of work to do," she said, declining the invitation. "Thanks, though, for everything." After spending the next few minutes assuring Ben that she'd indeed be fine, he finally left. Joan sighed and attempted to work on the problem set. Forty-five minutes later, the door opened slowly.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" Grace said bitterly, glancing around the room.

"You weren't interrupting before!" Joan exclaimed, shutting her book with a thud.

"That's not what it looked like!" Grace retorted.

"Grace Polk, nothing was going on. First of all, Adam and I broke up like a week ago," Joan explained, clearly exasperated with her best friend.

"And?" Grace prompted.

"What?"

"You said first of all. Thereby implying a second of all." Grace threw her backpack on her bed and slung her jacket over her desk chair.

"And second of all, Ben Cohen is madly in love with you," Joan said, knowing that statement would get a rise out of Grace. Someone needed to beat it into her head, Joan thought bitterly.

"He…he…he is not!" Grace sat on the bed and, unzipping her bag, rooted around.

Joan rose and sat next to Grace, grabbing her hands to still them. When Grace looked up at her, Joan said softly, "Grace, he's not going to wait around forever."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Grace said, twisting out of Joan's grasp. Unfortunately, their dorm room was small and there was nowhere for her to escape.

"He likes you. He's spent the last six months pursuing you. What are you waiting for?" Joan paused. "Him to get tired and move on to someone else?"

"Who else?" Grace demanded loudly.

Joan chuckled to herself. "I knew you liked him," she said, shaking her head.

"Of course, I like him," the blonde admitted softly. She paced the room, ten paces up and ten paces back. "I'm scared, Girardi."

Joan got off the bed and planted herself in front of Grace, forcing her friend to stop. "What are you scared of?"

"Messing things up," Grace admitted with a sigh. "I screwed things up with your brother. I…I don't want to mess things up with Ben."

"Oh, Grace," Joan sympathized. "That was a long time ago."

Grace locked eyes with Joan. "And if you and Rove can't make it, I'm pretty sure there's no hope for the rest of us."

Joan groaned and lay on her bed, covering her eyes with her arm. "Please don't put this on me." Suddenly, she sat up. "I have enough stuff to deal with, Grace. I don't need to know that the reason you won't be with Ben is because Adam and I broke up. It's not fair." She felt the tears springing into her eyes again.

Grace stood awkwardly for several moments before moving to sit next to Joan. "Do you want to talk about it?" she said quietly.

"No," Joan replied, sniffling. "But there is one thing you can do for me."

"What's that?"

"Go find Ben." Grace glared at her. "And talk to him. Please?"

"Fine, I'm going," Grace finally replied after a several minute stare-down with Joan. She grabbed her jacket and left the room.

Joan again felt her gaze drawn to the box on her bed. Knowing she wouldn't get a damn thing done unless she really looked through it, she sat on her bed, took a deep breath, and carefully dumped the contents out.

Another sketch, this one of her poring over her statistics book, lay on top. With a tender smile, she set it aside to find the "lost" poster he'd done of Larry the cat. Beneath that was the beanie he'd insisted she wear before he'd let her go out in the snow three Christmases ago. He'd said she could get sick if her head was uncovered, especially once the snowballs started flying. There was the DVD copy of Tommy Boy he'd given her for their first anniversary. Next to her beloved cheerleader sculpture was the silver locket he'd given her in San Francisco. She opened it and gave a sob-filled laugh. There were two pictures inside: one of them laughing into the camera and one of them kissing.

She'd told Adam that their split needed to be worthwhile. But, as she pawed through four years of mementos, she couldn't help feeling she'd made a huge mistake. Although tears were streaming down her face, she felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rise up. Unable to stop it, she clutched the photo taken last summer of her and Adam asleep in her backyard to her chest and laughed and cried uncontrollably.

Grace took a deep breath and knocked on the door, which was decorated with pictures of 'the marvels of engineering' as Ben put it mixed with pictures of half-naked girls. She didn't hear anything so she knocked louder.

"Goddamnit, Jimmy. I told you to bring your keys!" a voice shouted as the door was flung open. Ben was standing there in his underwear and Grace found she couldn't tear her eyes away from him. His dark hair was sticking out in every direction and his green eyes looked foggy with sleep. His chest was covered with a mat of dark hair that narrowed to a thin trail over his abdomen before disappearing into his blue boxer briefs. She was surprised to find Ben quite a bit more …well-defined than she'd imagined. Not that she'd imagined him in his underwear.

Not at all liking the smirk that Ben wore, she snapped, "Do you always answer the door in your underwear?"

"Well, Grace, I normally don't have guests at…" He leaned back into his room for a moment. "…midnight on a Thursday."

Midnight? she thought. When had it become midnight?

"Grace, what are you doing here?" he asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Knowing that anything other than the truth would sound incredibly lame, she admitted, while staring at her feet, "Girardi made me."

Ben chuckled. "Joan made you come over to my room at midnight?" he asked for clarification.

"No, she made me come over to your room at six. I hid in the library until it closed. And then I went and had several cups of coffee." She decided that her gaze was best left on the floor. When he didn't answer for several moments, humiliation flooded her. Isn't it obvious why I'm here? "I should go," she said quietly.

"No! I mean, come in…please." He held the door wider and she slipped past him. She stood awkwardly next to his desk while he grabbed a pair of jeans from his desk chair and slipped them on. Yanking open a dresser drawer, he reached in and grabbed a shirt. When he pulled it over his head, she tried not to notice how the muscles in his back bunched and flexed. Turning back to her, he smiled expectantly. "So do you want to explain why Joan made you come over to my room…at six?" he added mischievously.

"She wanted me to come over and talk to you." He sat on his bed and motioned for her to join him. With a small shake of her head, she sat on his desk instead. "She wanted me to talk to you…about us."

"U-Us?" he repeated dumbly. "There's an us?" That was not the reaction she was expecting and her face must have reflected it because he quickly added, "I mean…I want there to be an us…I just didn't think…you did."

Having never been in Ben's room before, Grace was curious and her eyes darted around the room, taking in all the little 'Ben' details: the poster of the Golden Gate bridge, the graphing calculator and mechanical pencils on the desk, the lava lamp next to his bed, the photo of the two of them laughing that Joan had taken during the Spring Carnival. "I…kinda…do…want there to be an…us…but I'm…scared," she stammered.

Sometime while she was talking, Ben had risen from his bed to stand next to his desk. "Scared of what?" he asked softly.

She finally allowed herself to look him in the eye. "Scared that we won't make it…that one of us will get hurt…"

Sighing, he laid his hand over hers. "We're not Adam and Joan."

"W-What?" she asked, astonished that he'd picked up on her real fears.

"We're not Adam and Joan," he repeated, turning her hand over and lacing their fingers together. "We've both been in relationships, Grace, and we've both had things not work out."

"But, Ben, I…really messed things up…with Luke…and I…"

"I'm not Luke," he said, "and you're not Rachel. And we're not seventeen anymore, Grace."

She didn't know what to say to that so she concentrated on the feel of his palm pressed to hers as his thumb gently stroked the back of her hand. The few times she and Ben had touched, she'd felt a spark. And it was no different now. Her heart was beating a little faster and she was feeling a little warm. However, Grace was surprised at how right it felt to hold hands with Ben.

He cleared his throat, focusing her attention on him once again. "So…is there an…us?"

"I…" She shook her head. "I'd like to…try…"

Ben's face broke into a wide smile. "I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Well, don't get used to me admitting…things," she said with a scowl.

He laughed out loud. "That doesn't even make any sense."

"Shut it, Cohen."

"Make me," he said, leaning closer to her. When he was so close that she could see the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, Grace's eyes fluttered shut. A moment later, she could feel Ben's breath on her lips. She leaned forward and gently pressed her mouth to his. They kissed closemouthed for a few moments before Grace swept her tongue across his bottom lip, demanding entrance. Ben's mouth opened and her tongue eagerly sought his out. As they kissed, her free hand found its way to the nape of his neck, toying with the short hairs there. One of his legs nudged her knees apart and his hand settled on her hip, pulling her toward the edge of the desk. Finally, needing air, they broke apart. "Wow," he said softly, resting his forehead against hers. Feeling the same way, but unwilling to admit it, Grace merely smiled. "Do you have any plans tomorrow night?"

"Why?" she asked, instantly suspicious.

"I want to take you out. On a real date." He paused. "And I won't take no for an answer."

"I don't think I like this tough…" His mouth sealing over hers cut off her sentence. They kissed passionately for several more minutes. When he pulled her flush against him, her eyes popped open.

"I…I think I should…go."

"I think that's a good idea," he responded, pulling away abruptly.

Grace hopped down from the desk and moved to the door. Ben sat on his bed and pulled on his shoes. "What are you doing?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

"I'm walking you back to your dorm," he answered matter-of-factly.

"I don't need you to walk me back!" she protested. He stood, opened the door, and waited for her to leave. Once they were both in the corridor, he closed and locked the door. "Ben, I can walk…" He took her hand and tugged her along. "…myself back to my dorm."

By the time, they arrived at the entrance to her dorm, she'd run through all the reasons why she could have walked herself back, all the reasons why he was a chauvinist, and all the reasons she was now reconsidering accepting a date with him. He kissed her once more and, five minutes later, he pulled away reluctantly. "Good night, Grace," he said before shoving his hands in his pockets and heading back to his dorm.

The room was dark when Grace carefully opened the door. As she fumbled in her dresser looking for her pajama pants and T-shirt, a voice said softly, "Either you didn't talk to him or things went really well."

"Shut it, Girardi," Grace whispered fiercely.

The lamp above Joan's bed clicked on and Grace looked over to find Joan sitting up. "And, judging by the state of your hair, I'm guessing things went really well." Grace could feel the blood rushing to her face, but remained silent. "So what happened?" Still no response from Grace as she quickly undressed and put on her sleep clothes. "You know, if you don't tell me, my imagination will just run away with me."

Grace climbed into bed. Turning toward the wall, she admitted softly, "He's taking me out tomorrow night." Joan said nothing and a moment later the lamp clicked off, leaving them both in darkness. Right before Grace drifted off to a sleep filled with dreams of Ben Cohen, she said drowsily, "Thanks, Girardi."