I swear I haven't forgotten about Good Things Come and Holiday Surprise. Those updates are coming. I promise. I've just been busy with different responsibilities at work and am still suffering from a bit of writer's/editor's burnout.

Thanks for letting me know, whether via review or PM, how you're hoping for Eric and Angela's relationship to turn out. It does seem to be leaning heavily one way over the others. Though, despite what the end of this chapter may indicate, I'm still debating how to conclude this particular section of storytelling. As I said before, I have a few different versions written and will go with whichever one feels most natural in the moment.

(And, because it was brought up by more than one person I wanted to address it; this story in particular will not be ending with a Angela/Shawn reunion. At this time I have no plans of writing a story with them together. I've tried in the past and it just doesn't come. However, that doesn't mean the right story won't come to me at a later date. And if it does, I will write it. I never say never. If I did, I wouldn't have given writing about Angela/Eric more than a passing thought. So, never say never.)

Next chapter: Angela and Eric begin the road back to Philly.

As always, thank you so much for your feedback. It is very much appreciated. :-)

The crick in his neck was the first thing Eric was conscious of upon waking up. More than a week of sleeping on Sgt. Moore's couch had taken its toll. The roads were deemed passable- flooding receded and there was no longer a risk of mud slides- days ago yet he stayed. He was going to leave, wanting to give Angela and her father some privacy, but Sgt. Moore practically insisted he stay, pointing out that by the time Eric got to where he was going he'd have to turn back to pick up Angela and head home. He had to admit that was a valid point. Still, he made sure to find something to do most days. Eric knew how important this time with her dad was to Angela and didn't want to intrude.

Even with all of the time spent with her father, she still made time to hang out with him and didn't make him feel like a third wheel. They usually ate dinner together and watched a movie or some television before going to bed. Heck, even Sgt. Moore took him out to lunch a couple times, being sure to mention he was the one who stumbled upon the field of tanks. Eric got even by repeating his Alvin and the Chipmunks joke. It was a big hit among the officers. He had to admit it was going to be strange to go back home and back to reality.

He shifted around with the vague hope of getting comfortable enough to fall back to sleep, but was unsuccessful. It was a little after nine and the only other indication of life was faint music coming from somewhere else in the apartment. That was unusual. Typically Sgt. Moore was milling around the kitchen and onto his second cup of coffee by now. Maybe he and Angela went out for breakfast? But then where was the music coming from? Eric gave up on sleep and went to investigate, choosing to ignore the noises he made while getting up. Twenty-one years old and already starting to sound like his father. It had to be the couch.

It didn't take long for the music to lead him to Angela's room. There he found her on her bed surrounded by notebooks and papers. She was so completely engrossed and had no idea he was there. He decided to take advantage of her obliviousness and watch her. He was struck by how pretty she looked in her pajamas and her hair tossed up in a bun. He didn't typically allow his mind to go there. Angela was his friend and you're not supposed to see your friends and think, 'ooh, pretty,' but that was all that came to mind. She was so relaxed. That was what stood out- she was comfortable. She wasn't on guard or looking over her shoulder for Cory and Shawn to appear. She looked content. Happy. It pleased him to no end that he played a small part in her current merriment. He wished he could guarantee that she'd be this happy when they returned home and momentarily wondered when her happiness began to matter so much to him.

"It's not a museum exhibit, even if dad tries to keep it looking like one," Angela commented, amused. "I won't charge you admission."

"Sorry, I was just following the music. It kind of looked like you didn't want to be bothered."

She smiled at him, catching sight of his sleepy expression and major case of bedhead. Considering how much he cared about his appearance, it was quite adorable. "You're not a bother." It was impossible not to laugh when Eric mimed unhooking a velvet rope as he entered. "I know. It's practically a shrine."

"I like to think my parents would've kept my room like this if they didn't have to give it to Morgan when Josh was born."

"It's hard to believe this is only the third time I've ever been here. My dad is such a crazy minimalist, except when it comes to my things. Then he's a hoarder."

"Oh, so it's more like a wish you were here room?" Eric scanned the wall, mesmerized by all of the medals and certificates. "Is this all of your dad's stuff?"

"Yeah, he won't display them in the living room because he doesn't like showing off. He's very humble. I've always had his stuff up in my room. I'm proud of him and want to brag. I have a few of his things in Philadelphia, but I'm paranoid that someone could take them, so they're kept hidden. But at least I can take them out and look whenever I want."

He whistled. "This is impressive. And now that I see the awards for shooting and marksmanship I'm glad he likes me."

"Who said he likes you," she teased.

"Hello, who did he take to the transportation museum? Not you. Besides, who wouldn't like me?" He moved on to the next wall. "Wow, someone's a bit of a Brainiac."

"Oh, yeah, dad said if I put his awards up, he was putting mine, too."

"Seriously, this has to rival Topanga's collection."

"Well, I did come in third for valedictorian right behind Topanga and…and…I don't remember his name."

Eric closed his eyes and visualized her graduation. He was onstage singing to Mr. Feeny, he looked to the side and, watching him in amazement…or horror, it was hard to tell, were Shawn, Angela, Topanga, Cory, and…"Oh, Minkus!"

"That's it."

"Third, really?" He removed a frame from the wall. It held a Principal's Award with Mr. Feeny's signature on it.

"Yeah, bouncing around to different schools screwed me over a little with credits and learning different teaching styles, though I always did my best to keep up."

"Why hide this? Let people know you're as smart as Topanga."

"I don't know if I would go that far. Besides, Topanga needs to be the smartest person in the room. It's important to her." Angela thought it had something to do with giving up Yale and needing to remind herself how smart she was as some form of self-validation. Not that she's ever broached the topic with her friend. It wouldn't end well. "Me, I don't care. If you act like the smartest person in the room then people expect that to always be true. There's no room for error. Who wants that pressure?"

"That's always been my philosophy. Be dumb and no one expects nothin' from you."

"Eric, you're not-"

"What are all these papers," he interrupted. "More awards?"

She wanted to press the issue and remind him of how smart he was, but it was obvious he wasn't in the mood. "No, just writing I did when I was a kid. There's creative writing assignments, short stories, parts of what I'd hoped would turn into songs, my attempt at nine to write a musical, and a bunch of little plays. Most of them are various one woman shows I would write out and make my parents and stuffed animals watch me perform."

"No way!" He was about to take a seat on the bed when he remembered all of those marksmanship awards on the wall. The floor was safer. "You wrote a one woman show? So did I! Well…it was a one man show."

"Obviously." She choked back giggles when he sat on the floor instead of next to her, knowing exactly why he did it. "You really wrote a show?"

"You mean you never heard of, Eric Matthews: Look at Me, Look at Me: A One Man Show?"

"I can't say I have."

"I sold tickets and rented that little theatre space above the bowling alley on Beck St. and everything."

"Big box office success?"

"I thought it had potential, but the critics were rude meanies who either left or fell asleep- even my parents. If they weren't sleeping they looked embarrassed."

"That doesn't sound supportive."

"Eh, it sucked. Maybe I should've left out kindergarten cubby troubles and pooping my pants on a bus when I was six." He caught her look. "It was a field trip and it was a long ride back to the school. No bathrooms on school busses. No one would sit next to me for weeks. Even the teacher looked at me weird."

She rubbed his shoulder. "Aw, I'm sorry."

"That's okay. At least I tried to do something, right?"

"Definitely."

"And when I get some more life experience I'm going to write a hit!"

"I look forward to that. Do you still have it?"

"The sucky play?" She nodded. "Yeah, it's propping up a wobbly table leg at home. Why?"

"I'd like to read it sometime. Maybe you can even act it out for me."

"Even though it sucks?"

"Yes."

"Will you let me read yours'?"

"Sure."

"Will you act one out?"

"We'll see."

/

/

Shawn closed the door to his dorm and stepped out into the hall, careful not to jostle the bags in his hand. He'd been a little lazy in getting the garbage out over break, but now that Cory was due to come back to the dorms after having spent a few days at home to hang out with his family, he was hauling ass to get the room clean so as to avoid a lecture. A loud thud from Angela and Topanga's room across the hall caught his attention. Weird. As far as he knew Topanga was still in Pittsburgh and Angela was with her father...and Eric. He turned the knob and it was unlocked. There he found Topanga crouched on the floor with a pile of books at her feet. "Topanga?"

"I'm fine," she called out, "just knocked over some books."

He entered the room and knelt down to help her. "What did you do, take out the whole bookcase?"

"No, just one shelf. I accidentally put all my heavy books to one side and it buckled." She sighed and sat back on her heels. "Man, the screws are bent. Do you think maintenance would fix this kind of thing?"

"It's your bookcase, not theirs', so probably not. Just get Cory's dad to fix it."

"Yeah, maybe. Though what I really need to do is figure out how to do basic repairs myself. This way I won't have to wait for someone else to fix it for me. Why didn't they ever cover this kind of stuff in home economics class?"

"You're talking to a guy who never had much of a home and definitely didn't have any economics. And as for taking classes," he said with a chuckle, "well-"

"What are you doing here, Shawn? If you're here to whine about Angela, you've come to the wrong person."

"I only-"

"I love you and I'm always going to want good things for you, but right now? My priority in this saga is repairing my relationship with my best friend, so: Team Angela."

"Got it." He stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. "But I only came to see what the noise was."

"Oh. Sorry."

"That's okay. What are you doing back already? I thought you were in Pittsburgh until Thursday."

"That was the plan, but…I don't know. My parents were being weird. I couldn't take it anymore."

"Weird how?"

"They just weren't acting like themselves. They were distant. The whole time I was there I hardly spent time with both of them together. It was one or the other. They were barely even home at the same time."

He pulled out one of the desk chairs and took a seat. "Maybe they were having an argument and wanted to keep you out of it."

"Shawn, the only argument my parents have ever had was over who loved whom more. And that can hardly count because they both won."

"Anybody can have a fight. No one's perfect."

"My parents are," she insisted. "They're perfect together. Everything I know about love I learned from watching them. It's how I know Cory and I are perfect for each other."

"You and Cory are perfect together," he remarked. "I've watched you guys my whole life. It's how I know Angela and I are…" He saw her glare and shut up. "Sorry." He didn't know what it was Topanga wanted to hear. "Maybe it was just an off week."

"I hope you're right. They're coming to town in May to get into the meat of the wedding planning with me. I'm sure they'll be back to normal by then."

"Surrounded by you and Cory and all that nauseating love and happiness, how could they not get caught up in it?"

"What do you mean by nauseating?"

/

/

"This is so pathetic," Eric exclaimed, shaking his head in wonder.

"Hey, I told you I was only seven when I wrote this." Angela was draped across her bed in order to read over his shoulder. "Give me a break."

"No, it's not bad, it's actually really good. Who knew a tale about a chameleon with oversized sunglasses scared in the big city could be this interesting? I'm hooked."

"Then why did you say it was pathetic?" Why was she putting so much stock into his opinion of something she wrote in second grade?

"You wrote better at seven than I did at eighteen. Hell, this is better than I write now. That's pathetic." He turned his head slightly to look at her, wincing when the movement aggravated the sore muscles in his neck. "How were you this creative as a kid?"

"I don't know, not having any brothers or sisters or never being in a place long enough to make real friends, maybe? I had to come up with my own fun a lot of the time."

"Sorry."

"You don't have to be."

"Still, the story is good."

"I think you're exaggerating a little bit."

"Nope. Even I can understand what you were trying to say with this- at least on a deeper level."

"I was seven and it was a silly story about a chameleon. There is no deeper level."

"Really, I think the chameleon was you and the new city was every place you ever moved to."

Huh. "Still not seeing the deeper level."

"What are chameleons experts at?"

"Catching things with their tongues?"

"Blending in. They adapt to their surroundings and do their best not to stand out, attract no predators yet observe everything."

"And where do the sunglasses factor in?"

"Sometimes life gets too real and you need a comical prop."

She hated to admit it, but maybe there was subtext. Maybe the story was the way she tried to express feelings of fear regarding all the changes that were constantly happening in her life. Not that anyone took the time to see past the cute tale of a chameleon and his glasses- not even her. "All things considered I had it pretty good. I had a lot of fun seeing so many different places. It never occurred to me that I might be missing out on anything as a kid. I mean, after my mom left I knew what was missing, but other than that things were normal."

Other than that? "A lot of these one woman shows are more like one woman musicals. And some of these songs are pretty decent for a kid."

"My mother was a music teacher. She had dreams of making it big singing and playing piano- a walking cliché with stars in her eyes. Somewhere along the way she married a military man and had me. I don't think we factored into her plan for fame. Army moves weren't quite the traveling company she had in mind. For years after she left I was terrified that one day I would see her picture on television or on an album cover. It's bad enough I have to watch for her name on the back covers or song credits."

"What do you mean?"

"She may not be a household name, but she is a rather successful studio musician and background vocalist. I can almost guarantee you've heard her singing on the radio before."

"You know where she is?" For some reason he had been under the impression she didn't know her mother's whereabouts.

"Atlanta."

"And you never thought about going to-"

"No. There's not much to say to someone who signed away their right to be your mother."

Eric felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He didn't know how he would handle it if his parents made the decision to legally not be his parents anymore. The dates on her writings jumped out at him. Little Angela had been very meticulous about dating things. "How old were you when she left?"

"Nine. She was a no-show to pick me up from school one day so they called my dad. When we got home there was a Dear John letter on the kitchen table along with her wedding rings, divorce papers, and papers to begin the process of relinquishing her rights to me. She didn't take anything aside from her clothes, other jewelry, and her piano. Turns out she had been planning it for months, but was a coward and couldn't face us. "

His heart broke for her, but he maintained his composure. If Angela could tell her story without breaking down, surely he could listen. "Is that why your songs and musicals stopped?"

"It was a long time before I wanted anything to do with music again." She dug through a box that was beside him on the floor, going until she reached the bottom. She pulled out a photograph and held it up to him.

"Wow," he said without thinking. "You look-"

"Just like her. I know. You have no idea what it's like to look in the mirror and see the reflection of someone you hate and wonder if there's a chance the similarities go beyond skin deep. That scares me more than anything."

Eric had no idea what to say to that. Instead of trying to find the right words, he simply held her hand.

She studied the photo she knew by heart. It had always been her favorite. Dad took it one evening after returning home from work. Her mother was at her piano and she was lying across the top. She couldn't have been more than two or three at the time. "When she had trouble getting me to sleep at night, she'd sit me on top of the piano so I could listen to her. My earliest memories are watching her from that piano top. For my fourth birthday she started teaching me to play. I got pretty good, too. She used to say that one day we'd have our own mother/daughter act, go on the road, and be famous. I didn't care about fame, I just loved being with her and playing together." Angela was taken aback by the tears that clouded her vision. She hadn't shed more than a few tears over her mother in years.

"I'm sorry."

"Funny thing is, to this day I still can't bring myself to touch a piano."

"Angela-"

"I want to. I'd love to. I miss it. But I can't. All my best memories of her are wrapped up in those keys."

Before he could formulate any sort of response, she released his hand and wrapped her arms around his neck. The position was unfortunately awkward as she was still on the mattress and he was sitting against the bed on the floor. Her hug could practically double as one of those sleeper holds he remembered from watching wrestling with Cory when they were kids. When his need for oxygen overwhelmed his desire to comfort her, he tapped her arm. "Angela?"

"Yeah?"

"Kinda can't breathe here."

She freed him from her grasp, sat up, and wiped her eyes. "Sorry. I guess this explains why I try not to get emotional."

"Angela, it's okay. I just figured I'd be more useful if I was conscious and breathing." He put his hand on her knee. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. It's just been a long time since I looked through these boxes. That's all. It's so funny. I can't remember what her voice sounded like when she spoke, but her singing is echoing in my head right now. I thought I had forgotten that, too."

"Music has a way of sticking with us. Think about all the songs cataloged in our brains."

"I suppose so."

Eric looked at her old Eeyore alarm clock and saw that it was past lunchtime. He hasn't seen or heard her father at all today. That was unusual. "Where's your dad right now?" And why wasn't he going with Angela on this bittersweet trip down memory lane?

"Working."

"Really?"

"Don't worry, I knew about this from the time we first scheduled the visit. He had to give a speech at a conference. Why?"

Eric got up from the floor and sat beside her on the bed. "Well, you know…all those marksmanship certificates…"

She giggled. "What, afraid he'd get some ideas about you being alone with his daughter in her bedroom?"

All sorts of scenarios and conclusions her father could jump to came to mind. They each ended with him being in more physical pain than the previous one. "I didn't even think about that."

Angela grabbed onto his arm when he tried to get up. "Relax. He's not going to be home until late tonight, maybe tomorrow morning if things run long. And things always run long at these conferences." It almost felt like a weight had been lifted off of her. She'd long since decided that dwelling on her mother was pointless so there was no use talking about her. Maybe that had been a mistake. Or maybe she just needed the right audience. Talking to Eric was easy. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"You're not trying to fix things. All you did was listen to me. Anyone else would be flinging theories around about getting in touch with her and repairing our relationship. Or worse, they'd go behind my back to do it."

That definitely sounded like something Cory would try. "That's not my place. Besides, it sounds like she doesn't deserve you anyway."

"Thanks."

"But if there was a magic wand that let me fix things for you I would."

"And if it were possible I might let you. But the damage is done."

"What are you going to do now?"

"Same as before- I go on with my life and refuse to let her actions define me. Nothing's changed except for the fact that you now know the whole story." She was confused when Eric smiled at her and shook his head. "What?"

"If it were me I'd probably still be hiding under my bed, trying to make sense of life. You're amazing."

A self-conscious laugh escaped her. "I don't know about that."

"Trust me."

"My dad was my rock in those early years. This acceptance didn't happen overnight. Even now…there are still days I don't accept it and alternate between being bitter and angry at the world and wondering what was so wrong with me that my own mom didn't want me anymore. That usually happens around Mother's Day. Just a head's up."

"I'll try to remember that."

"Every year I swear I'll be better at distracting myself, but it never works out that way. The reminders end up creeping in."

"Maybe we'll plan something for that weekend," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders, "keep you really busy."

"I appreciate that, but I'm a big girl. I can handle it. You should spend Mother's Day celebrating your mom. She deserves it."

Eric nodded, feeling a renewed appreciation for his mother. "You know if you ever need to borrow her, you can. She's great at mom stuff."

"Thanks." She sighed and rested her head against his chest, noting how weird it wasn't when he wrapped his arms around her for a hug. Eric wasn't just easy to talk to. He was easy to be with. He genuinely cared about her, how she felt, and was interested in her opinions. That was more than she could say about her other friends lately. With them it was as if she only mattered as far as it related to Shawn. His wishes and his happiness apparently mattered more to them than hers'. Eric, on the other hand, made it his mission to help her see her dad. He made her laugh and, on more than one occasion, made her appreciate his offbeat view of the world. She certainly hoped she made him see things in a different light, too; mainly the dim light he used to cast on himself. He was more than the wacky sidekick…the comic relief. He had a brain and could be taken seriously. He'd just forgotten that for a while. When he ran his hand along her arm and she was surprised by the goosebumps that appeared.

"Cold?"

"Um…I guess so." She couldn't help but smile when his hand ran across her skin again, this time at a quicker pace in an attempt to warm her. He certainly did go the extra mile in his own unique, Eric way. "Thanks again…for listening, I mean."

"I'm sorry you had to go through all that."

"Like I've said before, it's life. I'm just playing the cards I was dealt. Luckily every so often the deck reshuffles and you can trade in some crappy cards for better ones."

He laughed. Though they were no longer locked in an embrace his arms remained loosely wrapped around her waist. She didn't seem to mind and he found that it was almost natural to be holding her. He shoved that last thought to the back of his mind. No need to analyze it and cause trouble. "You've really committed to the whole card game analogy, huh?"

"It works for me." Her hands were playing with the short sleeves of his T-shirt.

"Thanks for telling me…not just about the cards, but you know…your mom and showing me all your stories and stuff. I'm sure it's not easy and you're pretty private. I know this isn't something you share with just anybody. Thank you for trusting me enough."

"Thank you for being someone I can trust." She nearly cringed at the triteness of her words. "I don't have too many people like that in my life right now."

"I know what you mean." She was one of the few people he felt comfortable enough to be himself around. Though he realized it wasn't necessarily the fault of other people that that was the case. They were only reacting to the image he put out there; a false version of himself that was free from the expectations of others, free from the ability to disappoint them again. If he screwed up or did something stupid they didn't blame him. No, they blamed the crazy doppelganger that had taken his place. Angela though…she saw beyond the masquerade and dared him to be himself. And while it involved the occasional painful self-examination, she would accept nothing else.

She had intended to place an innocent peck on his cheek at the same moment he turned his head to say something. Their lips met in an awkward, almost kiss and they pulled apart at the contact the way one removed their hand from a hot pan.

They stared, each waiting for the other to make a move: say something, do something. The million reasons why this shouldn't happen may have gone unspoken, but they were hardly unknown. There was no good reason to go any further than they already had. And yet…

If, at a later date, they were pressed for details, neither Angela nor Eric could say exactly who kissed whom first.

For some reason she thought he would be more passive. She didn't know why. But as her back connected with the mattress she realized how wrong she was. His kisses were deep, demanding, almost daring her to match him in intensity. She couldn't help the involuntary shiver that took over as he ran his hands along her body and, as crazy as it sounded, she'd swear her ears were ringing. She dug her fingers into his back and wrapped a leg around his hips in an effort to keep him close. When he broke away to trail kisses along her neck, the nearly two weeks' worth of stubble tickled, but a gasp escaped her instead of the giggle she'd been expecting. She held his face in her hands and dragged his mouth back to hers'.

Eric would be lying if he said he'd never thought about what it would be like to kiss Angela. But he never acted on those desires….never even let on he occasionally thought of her like that. They were friends and it wasn't worth screwing up what they had on a few moments of lust on his part. Now, however, now he was wondering if he wasn't the only one with thoughts that went beyond the friend zone. Her response to him had certainly been encouraging to say the least. Her mouth was warm and inviting and he couldn't get enough, only breaking the kiss when he needed air. Even then he still kissed his way down her neck, smiling against her skin when he felt her racing pulse. He was going to continue lower, emboldened by her sighs and shivers, but she had other plans. The only thing stopping this moment from being perfect was the incessant ringing in the background. It stopped suddenly only to start up again seconds later, this time louder than before. It took a few moments to register that it wasn't any random noise. It was a phone- Angela's phone.

"Angela," he rasped out, pushing away from her slightly. "Angela, the phone."

"Wha-what's wrong? Why are you stopping?"

"Your phone is ringing."

"They'll call back."

His next thought practically had him fleeing the bed. "What if it's your dad?"

Her eyes flew open and she shoved Eric off of her. Phone, phone, where was the damn phone? She followed the noise to the pile of papers that must've been shoved to the floor. "Hello?"

"Angela, what took so long? Is everything all right?"

"Dad, hi, how's the conference," she asked with a little too much enthusiasm.

"Fine. I tried calling the house phone a few times and no one answered."

"Oh, I uh…I was listening to music in my room. I must've had it too loud."

"Is something wrong? Why do you sound out of breath?"

"I'm fine. I was just rushing around looking for my phone. It got mixed in with the box of all my old stories and creative writing assignments."

Eric shook his head at her lame excuse. He was a dead man. There was no way Sgt. Moore would buy that. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on Angela's part of the conversation instead of what had happened moments ago.

"Dinner? Okay, dad, sounds great. Yes, we'll be ready. Bye. My dad's coming home tonight," she said, setting her phone on the nightstand. "He's…" Eric was no longer in the room. She heard the shower running and lay back on her bed and covered her face with a pillow. What the hell did they almost do? More importantly, what were they going to do now?"