Author's note: There will be adult situations in this chapter. Nothing real graphic, but a little more than you'd find in the show. You've been warned.

Chapter 31

He didn't take the chain off the door, but opened it up just enough to see who was on the other side. Joyce. He started to open the door, remembered he only had on a towel and quickly excused himself to get dressed. He pulled on the clothes he had left on the floor and was about to let her in when he remembered the socks he'd left drying on the radiator. He didn't want her thinking he lived like an animal, so he tossed them in the bedroom he never used before opening the door.

"Is someding wrong?" he said.

"I just wanted to apologize," she said, and handed him a Slurpee. He took a sip. Strawberry. He wasn't going to complain. She took a sip of hers, then shook her head. "This one's yours." They switched, and he tried it. Cherry.

"Vould you like to sit down?" He gestured toward his couch. "But you don't need to apologize. You didn't do anyding wrong."

She sat at one end. He sat at the other. She took a minute to speak. "I'm sorry Hopper treated you like that. I didn't think he would do that, or I wouldn't have had you both over."

It was entirely predictable, but he wasn't going to say that. He shrugged. "Not big." Then a thought struck him. "Does Hopper know you're here?"

"I don't care if he knows or not," Joyce said. Alexei thought that he cared very much, but he kept quiet. "We had a screaming match before I came over here."

"Did you vin?"

"I told him I didn't want to see him anymore. I don't know if that's a win." She sighed. "When he came back, I needed to know if there was anything there. I guess I know now."

"He vill realize he vas stupid and come back," Alexei said. Hopper was a hard-headed man, but he couldn't imagine any man being stubborn enough to give up Joyce rather than admit he'd been wrong. He would be back on her doorstep with flowers and candy by now – but he also would never have screamed at her in the first place.

Joyce shook her head. "I think it's for the best. Hop and I bring out the worst in each other. I think we'd kill each other if we ever tried to live together."

What was he supposed to say? That he was sorry? He wasn't, not really. He didn't like seeing Joyce hurt, but watching her happiness come from Hopper had pained him. He tried to think of what he would say to the men he'd shared an apartment with when their relationships turned sour. "Do you vant some vodka?"

"No thanks."

No, of course she didn't want vodka. "A hug?"

"Maybe we should just talk first." She took a deep breath. "Hop can be an idiot, sometimes, but sometimes he's right about things. And after he left and I thought about it, I realized he made one good point." Alexei nodded that she should continue. "You and I never really resolved anything."

"Resolved?"

"Never settled it."

"Vat do ve need to settle?"

"We never really talked about our feelings." She paused. "That was at least half my fault. After you and Hop came back, it was just easier not to try to sort out what those feelings were. It was easier to tell myself we were just friends. And you acted like a good friend and didn't push me. So I just told myself I'd imagined it, and you didn't feel anything for me. Then I heard you and Hop, and I had to face how unfair that was." She looked at him intently. It was strangely like being interrogated. He looked away. "So I guess that's what I really need to apologize for."

Then she was silent. She was waiting. What was he supposed to say? He couldn't deny it, now that she'd dragged those feelings into the open. But what good was it, spilling out just how much he felt that she would never reciprocate? He needed to say something. "You didn't imagine it. But I knew you didn't love me, so I decided I'd radder be friends dan nudding." She looked shocked. He mentally kicked himself. If TV had taught him anything, it was that Americans were skittish about that word. "I didn't mean – oy – in Russian de same vord means two dings. Love – and – vell, it also means-"

She kissed him, very lightly, on the cheek. It took him a moment to recover enough to speak. "Vas dat so I vould stop talking?"

"A little bit." She looked away. "You said you knew I didn't love you. You were right. But I wasn't ready to love anybody. It was all too much. I couldn't let myself get that close to anyone. Do you understand?" He nodded. "But now, I don't know what to think."

He nodded again, but he couldn't come up with a reply. Was he supposed to make his case? Or was that just pushy? They had lived happily together for more than a year. Did she really think that adding an element of romance would destroy everything? There was no reason to believe it would, but also no way of proving it wouldn't, except to try it – which was what she was afraid to do.

"Say something," she said.

What did she want him to say? What was the problem? Then it hit him: of course, of course. Why had it taken so long for him to see it? "Ve make good friends and roommates, yes?" She nodded. "And a boyfriend is a friend you vant to-" he fumbled for an inoffensive word, "kiss. Yes?" She smiled a bit, but nodded to play along. "So de qvestion is, do you vant to kiss me? But I cannot answer dat qvestion for you."

"It's not so simple. After so long just being friends-" She trailed off.

"Den I don't know." He sighed. "You have to decide if you vant to try."

"Try what? Kissing?" She shook her head.

"I vill alvays be your friend. De rest is up to you."

They sat for a moment. Alexei sipped his Slurpee, which had mostly melted. It was something to do with his hands, and an excuse not to talk. He set it down and sighed. He could feel Joyce looking at him, but he wasn't sure he wanted to look back. Of course she didn't want to kiss him. That was what this was really about – coming up with some way to acknowledge his feelings, and how futile they were. He leaned forward and laid his face in his hands. Then he felt her hand on his back. He sat up and turned to her. Might as well get this over with.

She touched the side of his face and leaned in. He leaned in too, though not enough to close the gap. That was her right. She touched her lips to his very softly, tentatively. It wasn't much of a kiss, but it still sent warmth flooding through him. He waited a beat, then touched their lips again. Then he waited. Yes? No? Maybe? She leaned in again, and opened her lips ever so slightly. Now this was kissing. She tasted like a strange combination of cigarettes and strawberries, but he wasn't going to complain.

"Cherry," she said, and laughed. He laughed too. Anything to cut the tension. And they kissed again. This time her hands found their way to his neck, and he slipped his around her waist. Then she moved her hands forward to his face, and pulled him in for a deeper kiss. He thought about all of the places he could touch her, but decided he'd better not. He didn't dare offend her by presuming too much.

They pulled apart. "So," she said, but didn't finish the thought.

"So," he responded, because he felt he had to say something. He tried to discreetly angle one leg over the other, but she noticed and smiled. He blushed like a school boy. "So."

She looked at him like she was making a decision. More kissing? Yes? No? She took his hand. "Let's find out," she said.

"You mean-"

"Uh-huh."

There wasn't enough space on the couch. Was the bedroom clean? He never used it – sleeping on the couch somehow made him feel less alone than lying in a bed big enough for two. Had the spiders taken over? Too late to worry about that now. He kicked the wet socks under the bed, and hoped Joyce didn't notice. He sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to him. She sat down too. It occurred to him that he had no idea what American women expected. The mechanics would be the same, but was he supposed to say something first? Which articles of clothing was it appropriate to leave on? He groaned inwardly at his own incompetence.

His only salvation was that Joyce seemed very clear about what she wanted. He let her lead. She took off her shirt, and so did he. They laid down and kissed some more, until she felt ready to remove the rest. Then they got under the covers and he did his best not to think. Thinking would only get in the way. Thoughts were the enemy of the people. Then she climbed on top, and he couldn't have formed a thought if he'd wanted to.

But all of them returned in a flood when they curled up together afterwards. He wanted to ask how he had done, but he imagined that would only make things worse. He settled on kissing her forehead. "You are beautiful," he said. That couldn't be wrong. Could it?

"You're not so bad yourself," she said. Not so bad. He would take that.

They laid quietly for a while. "I should go," she said. "I have to be at work by six tomorrow. And Will's going to wonder where I went."

He was disappointed, but he tried not to show it. They got dressed and he walked her to the door. "Can I take you to dinner some time?" he asked.

"Maybe you could come over on Sunday," she said. She quickly kissed him and was gone. He went and laid back on the bed. The pillow smelled like her. He smiled. There was a long way to go before he could begin to say she was his. But they had taken the first step.