Learning To Fall
By Allison E.L. Cleckler

Morris pushed Allison back after only a second, a little stunned at himself; blowing out a long breath, he grabbed for his beer and chugged the rest of it in its entirety. Allison seemed to be just as stunned as he was—she was staring at him, boggling really, one hand drifting up to touch her lips.

The sudden silence in the room was deafening.

"You just kissed me," she finally said, lamely.

Morris wiped his mouth on his sleeve and set the empty can back on the counter, looking everywhere but at her. Their argument had turned from a game, to an annoyance, to—something, something he wasn't prepared for, faster than he could process. "Yeah," he replied, his voice dull. "I did."

Allison opened her mouth and then closed it several times, as though she were having trouble forming words. At last, sounding oddly defensive and hurt, she said, "What the hell did you do that for?"

He looked up at her just in time to see the hurt tone of her voice show in the expression on her face, and just like that he was back to being exasperated. Damn it if she wasn't turning into his own personal roller coaster. Would it even be worth the effort of trying to understand her?

"I give up!" he cried, throwing his hands up in the air. "You repeatedly verbally attack me for not making a move on you, and then I kiss you and you act like I kicked a puppy."

What had he kissed her for, anyway? It'd been a lousy way of proving his point. Oh yeah, there's no way I'm interested in you, so come here and give me a smooch. Maybe he'd figured it was the only opportunity he'd ever have to steal a kiss from her. Yeah. That was probably it. Assuming he was suddenly into wanting to steal kisses from her. Where had being okay with arguing for the rest of eternity gone?

Oh, who was he kidding. It hadn't ever really been there in the first place. He was attracted to her, no bones about it.

Allison flinched away from him, and her eyes became bright with tears. "Well, you didn't have to do it just to make me shut up," she wailed. "Am I really that disgusting? Goddammit…" The tears spilling over and down her cheeks, she slid down the cabinets until she was sitting in a dispirited slump on the kitchen floor.

Shit. Sighing, Morris sat down next to her and, after a moment's hesitation, put an arm around her shoulders. Despite his annoyance and exasperation, he did still feel bad for her, and he wanted to make her feel better. Half of her current craziness was probably due to the beer she'd had anyway, and he couldn't judge her too harshly for that. The desire to get plastered after a big letdown was nothing new to him. Softly, he said, "You aren't disgusting," and he meant it.

She had tensed up at first when he put his arm around her, but was now slowly beginning to relax. "Oh really," she sniffled bitterly. "So why is it that I fuck up horribly with Dr. Stewart, my colleagues only ever try to get me drunk in a completely platonic way, and the reputed man whore of the ER won't even take a shot at me, roommate or no?"

Morris didn't even want to know how he'd acquired that particular label, and decided to ignore it. He had no desire to play the argument game anymore. Looking sideways at her, he mentally took a deep breath and asked seriously, "Do you want me to?"

Allison looked back at him quickly, surprise and distrust evident in her eyes, and said, "Would you? Or would you just be doing me a favor, and grimace and bear it and take a bleach bath in the morning?"

He shook his head, trying his best not to get insulted and failing miserably. What did she think? He'd kissed her before of his own free will. He sure as hell wouldn't be grimacing if he got the chance to do it again. In fact, he'd—and why the hell was he even thinking about that? "You know," he replied defensively, "contrary to my reputation, I do like being a nice guy sometimes. And I've never given anyone a pity fuck, and I don't plan to start now."

"You mean you'd pass up an easy lay? Nice. Good for you. Maybe you have some integrity after all." To Morris's surprise, Allison dropped her head onto his shoulder and let it loll there; after a moment, he brought his hand up to run his fingers through her hair. She didn't flinch away, and he was glad.

They stayed that way for another long moment, then Allison said, "You didn't answer my question."

He almost took his hand away from her hair, but she no longer seemed combative, only curious. "Which question?" he asked. "Would I make a move on you? Maybe… I don't know. Half the time I think you'd kick me in the nuts if I tried." He looked down at her. She looked almost peaceful, resting against him, and he was a little regretful that it was probably just the alcohol working its magic on her. "You would, too, wouldn't you?"

She shook briefly against him in silent laughter. "If you were a macho ass about it, I would. If you actually meant it, I… would pass out from shock or something."

Morris shook his head and chuckled ruefully. Knowing himself and his track record as he did… "Yeah, well, there's a fifty-fifty chance of that happening." He drew his hand away from her face and watched the strands of hair as they fell from his fingers. Any minute now, he was going to say the wrong thing, and she'd remember that she hated him, and this moment would be ruined. "I really should be offended by the way you've been insulting me all night," he decided to add, as if he in fact wasn't insulted already.

Allison shook her head a little and replied, "But I insult you every night. It's practically tradition."

He watched her for a moment before responding; again, she'd spoken entirely without rancor. It's the beer, he told himself. Enjoy yourself while it lasts, because dimes to dollars this'll never happen again. "Why'd you want to room with me if you can't stand me?" he asked finally. "Are you that hard up for money?"

"I don't like living by myself," she said simply. "And you're better than nothing."

Drunken honesty for the win, he thought, and again failed at not being insulted.

Before he could articulate a suitably blasé response, however, Allison asked plaintively, "Why'd you kiss me if you didn't want to do it?"

Morris let his hand rest still against her head as something in his stomach went vaguely sour. She was still thinking that? Count it as blow number two hundred and sixty-three to his ego. Drawing in a deep breath, he said quietly, "I wanted to see if you were all talk or not… if you'd kiss me back."

At that, Allison lifted her head up to look at him, an almost comical expression of surprise on her face. "Well, you should have said so," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You surprised me. And you called me that godawful nickname and told me to shut the hell up." She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. "We need to work on your people skills."

"My people skills? What about your social skills?" He elbowed her back with a small smile. "I told you to shut up because you were getting all emotional and crazy. I kissed you because, well… you looked like you could use a good kiss." Morris stared at her for a long moment, taking in the sadness and hurt still lingering on her face and the faint downturn of the corners of her mouth. The way she was looking back at him, for the first time he could recall, without any hint of derision or dislike. Suddenly all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and—hold her. Kissing her would be the icing on the proverbial cake. Softly, he added, "You still do."

She raised her eyebrows at him, intrigue and confusion flitting across her face in turns. "You want to kiss me? Why?"

Morris was slightly taken aback. Either the unthinkable was happening and she was actually warming up to him, or… she was just drunk. He didn't know whether to say the truth or something completely ridiculous, because how could he be sure she'd remember any of this in the morning? Either way, he would definitely remember this. Every single moment of it.

He decided to go with another partial truth. "I think you're cute. Do you want me to kiss you?"

Allison actually blushed a little, and to his further surprise, said, "Only if you mean it."

Oh hells. Drunk or not drunk, she'd just given him an open invitation. It was light years more than he'd ever dared to hope for from her, in any situation.

I'll mean it, all right, he thought, and gently took her chin to bring her lips to his.

When he kissed her, Allison felt as though something had seized up in her stomach, and it was suddenly hard to breathe; she was only peripherally aware of his hand slipping into her hair and the way it made her scalp tingle. This was nothing like the first kiss he'd planted on her… this one was soft and gentle and made the shattered remnants of her broken heart ache. He pulled away after a long suspended moment to gauge her reaction, his eyes searching hers. Feeling thoroughly jumbled and mixed beyond anything she knew how to deal with, the only thing she could think of to say was the impossibly odd non sequitur "Survey says?"

Morris sighed and kissed her roughly on the forehead, then let his head fall back against the cabinet. That was that, she was drunk and this was a pipe dream. If he went any further he'd just be taking advantage of her. "You? Are hopeless."

Very much drunk but suddenly feeling far from it—more like oddly jittery and nervous and as if she were standing on thin ice—Allison cautiously reached out to touch his cheeks with the tips of her fingers. She wanted to say something, anything, but words had failed her and she felt utterly lost. Morris just stared back at her, almost as though he was seeing her clearly for the first time. The touch of her fingers had felt like an electric spark on his skin, and he didn't want to move for hope that she would touch more than just his cheek, with more than just her fingertips.

Finally, feeling frozen in place, Allison managed, "I'm really confused right now."

Archie? You are an idiot. She doesn't want you. She wouldn't want you in a million years. Figuring he'd just made a fool of himself for what had to be the millionth time in his life, Morris tried to shrug nonchalantly and blew out a long breath he'd only just become aware he was holding. "Yeah. Sorry my name isn't Stewart and I don't do it for you, Al."

Her hand dropped away from his face then as if cut from a string, and her eyes turned sad as she looked back at him. She couldn't figure him out—usually he was a careless, wisecracking pain in the ass, but tonight he'd been… caring rather than careless. Like he was constantly on the verge of saying something more. And he hadn't laughed at her. Selfless altruism wasn't something she'd ever expected from him, so she couldn't help but think he was being nice because he expected something in return, no matter his protests to the contrary.

"What do you want from me?" she asked, almost pleadingly.

Everything, he almost said, and for a moment he thought he had said it aloud. But no… admitting that would only lead to disaster. Better just to stay quiet and keep their kiss as a warm memory.

"Nothing," he said instead, pushing himself up to his feet. He was tired—tired of lying to himself, tired of dancing around questions he didn't think she would really want him to answer. He'd throw out one last attempt at kindness for the night, and that would be it. She'd say yes or no, and either way when tomorrow came they'd go back to their usual routines. Looking down at her, he offered, "I'm going to bed. You can feel free to join me, or you can keep sitting there all night."

Allison stared at him, stunned. He's actually doing it, she thought. He just propositioned me. Despite the revulsion coiling in her stomach at the thought, her heart was leaping at it as well. She felt discarded, unworthy… she wanted nothing more than to feel wanted, needed, even if only in the basest way. And Morris was making her an offer she found she couldn't bring herself to refuse.

"If… if you don't want me," she said faintly, "I won't come." It was like hearing another person talk with her voice.

Morris just held his hand out to her, waiting to see if she'd stand up and come with him. He didn't think she'd accept the offer, because he knew she thought the worst of him. But all he wanted to do was hold her. Yes, it was selfish, but maybe it would keep her from crying herself to sleep. "I don't have any expectations, Al."

Suddenly terrified with anticipation of what she felt she was tacitly agreeing to do, Allison silently reached up to take his hand.

A little surprised, but pleased, Morris pulled her to her feet and then scratched his neck almost nervously, asking, "Coming?" He nodded towards his bedroom and started down the hall without looking back, ridiculously feeling like Orpheus in the old Greek myth—if he turned around, Allison would disappear and his pipe dream come to life would disappear with her. Once in his room, he kicked his shoes and slacks off into a corner and sat on the bed to peel off his socks.

When he could bring himself to look up, Allison was in the doorway, watching him with an indecipherable expression on her face. He raised his eyebrows at her questioningly as he stretched out on one side of the bed to lay down. "Make up your mind and kill the lights, huh?"

She stood there for half a moment longer before quickly flipping off the overhead light. Morris almost thought she'd changed her mind and fled, but then the mattress dipped under her weight and he felt a questing hand brush his shoulder. "You know," her voice said carefully in the darkness, "I've never gotten past third base before, and it's been a while since that…"

Morris almost laughed at the absurdity of her comment coupled with the whole situation, but bit his tongue and said reassuringly, "Hey, no expectations, remember? Just come here and lay down."

Still terrified inside, Allison crept forward and settled down next to him, her head automatically finding his shoulder. He shifted to accommodate her and slipped an arm under and around her, holding her close while he pulled the blankets up with his free hand. Feeling how tense she was, he dared to press a kiss to her temple and said quietly, "Hey, relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know," she replied just as quietly, and was a little surprised to discover she meant it. Somehow, she felt she could trust him. She hadn't been held by anyone in a long time, and mused that as much as she'd wanted to curl up in a ball and die today, this wouldn't be a bad place to do it. Pretending she was wanted.

Testing the waters, Morris gently ran a hand up and down her arm, taking in how soft she was. Her hair smelled like oranges. "You smell pretty good," he commented. "As long as you don't talk in your sleep, I'd say we're pretty golden."

She couldn't help it; she chuffed a little in laughter even as her stomach did flip-flops at the feel of his hand on her arm. Any moment she expected it to drift to more intimate places. "Supposedly I grind my teeth sometimes." Letting out a nervous breath, she shifted her head to a more comfortable position on his shoulder and let her hand move to rest on his chest.

Morris smiled in the darkness and covered her hand with his, lacing their fingers together. It was almost like he was living a damn dream. He didn't want to fall asleep, because then he'd have to wake up and there would be no more holding her like it was the most natural thing in the world. "That's nice… I have a tendency to shove teeth grinders out of bed in my sleep."

Any moment now, Allison repeated silently to herself, and exhaled again. Despite her nerves, she was starting to relax; being held, even by him, was more of a comfort than she wanted to admit.

"This is nice," she murmured, almost to herself.

Tentatively placing another kiss on her brow, Morris let his lips linger there as he murmured wordlessly in kind.

She shivered slightly at his breath on her skin, fully expecting him to extend the kiss along her cheek and to her own lips. But he didn't; he remained just as he was, holding her lightly with her head nestled in the curve of his neck, and Allison couldn't decide whether she was relieved or disappointed. Maybe she'd been mistaken, maybe he didn't want her after all. But if he didn't, why had he invited her into his bed? Confused, she tilted her head back to look up at him in the darkness and asked, her voice quavering slightly, "If… if you don't expect anything from me, if you don't want me… why did you ask me in here?"

Oh, goddammit. Game over. Morris turned his head towards the sound of her voice and frowned, letting go of her hand and the arm he'd been caressing. "Do you really think I'm that much of an asshole?" he demanded flatly. "Why are you here if you think sex is all I want? Huh? Damned if I do and damned if I don't."

"I don't know why I'm here," she whispered, almost horrorstruck at how badly she had misjudged him.

He kept on, his voice rising, not even bothering to mask the hurt he felt. Here he was, being completely altruistic, hoping he could offer her some small measure of comfort if only for one night, keeping things entirely innocent, and she still thought he was only out to get some tail. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just wanted to hold you for a little while? Make you feel a little bit better than you've been all night?"

It hadn't occurred to her, and she felt wretched and confused for it. Blindly, she reached up to touch her fingers to his cheek again and said quietly, "If that's true, then there's more to you than I thought."

She didn't want to believe that—it didn't fit at all with how she knew him, what she'd heard about him. But then again, here they were in his bed and he honestly hadn't made any moves on her. He had to know how vulnerable she was tonight, how tipsy she was, how easy it would be to get what he wanted if sex was all he wanted. But he hadn't taken advantage of her at all. He'd just tried to be a friend, as crazy as that seemed, and she'd misinterpreted everything.

"Nah, you're right, I'm just the incompetent chief resident who likes Baywatch and beer," Morris was retorting bitterly. "You think so highly of this Stewart guy, who I bet you know just as well as you know me, and you think I'm this… I don't know, some sex-crazed creep."

Something jolted in Allison's chest when she heard the bitterness in Morris's voice—she recognized it, from earlier, in her own voice.

Wow… I must be some horrible disgusting mutant for you to not want to nail me.

Why would I want you? You're always talking about how horrible I am…

Everything. She'd misread everything.

He was pulling away from her now, both physically and emotionally, hurt pouring off him in waves. She realized she didn't want him to go away, she didn't want him to leave her all alone, she wanted to keep the illusion that someone wanted her, even if that someone was a person she didn't like…

She drew in a deep breath, her stomach churning, and reached up to take his face in her hands and turn him back towards her. He started to say something, to push her away, but suddenly there was just the barest touch of her lips on his, halting and uncertain, and they both froze.

What am I doing here? Allison thought.

Fuck this, Morris thought.

She hovered there for only a second longer before his hand was caressing her cheek, sliding into her hair, and his lips were sealed against hers, gently at first but then more demanding, more wanting. Somewhere in the back of her mind she thought, You'll do, and she threw away her dislike and fear and kissed him back with all the desperation of a drowning swimmer reaching for air.