mkrobinson

Title: Cry

Fandom: Sweet Valley University

Universe: Canon

Genre: Romance

Rating: T

Warning: Language

Word Count: 1132

Summary: Billie goes to find Steven after she has the miscarriage.

"What are you doing here?" Steven asks me in a hoarse whisper as I take the open stool next to him at the seedy bar that Jessica had told me that he would be at. I shrug, shooting him an innocent look, hoping that he can't see that my eyes are bloodshot from being up all night crying and that my miscarriage induced pallor is only slightly hidden under my carefully applied make up.

"What are you doing here?" I counter, before ordering myself a beer. "I came to see you," I explain, crossing my arms defensively. "I'm worried about you."

He snorts, taking a sip of what looks like a gin and orange, and I let out a sigh.

"You should be at home," he says after a moment, after he's appraised my appearance and deduced -- of course, correctly -- that I probably should be at home rather than at this disgusting bar drinking a beer that I don't particularly even like.

He reaches out to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear, and I feel myself blushing, even though I don't particularly want to blush when it comes to Steven at the moment. I'm angry at him, and I shouldn't -- and really probably medically can't -- want to take him into the ladies' room in the back of the bar, near where all the pool tables are, and ravish him, but I can't help it.

"Don't tell me what to do," I manage to say. "I'm a grown woman, I can make my own decisions."

Of course, where had making my own decisions gotten me? Nowhere good. Maybe Steven had been right about that, too.

He takes another sip of his drink, before answering. "I know you can. I'm just worried, that's all."

"So you can be worried about me, but I can't be worried about you?"

The beer tastes absolutely disgusting, but I force myself to drink it anyways. Anything to avoid doing nothing while having this extremely awkward conversation.

"Why are you worried about me?" Steven asks, actually sounding confused. "You were the one who had the miscarriage," he points out, gesturing at me, like I don't know that I had a miscarriage and that I'm the one he's talking about. "You were the one who lost our baby," he adds, softly, softly enough that I almost don't hear him.

Despite myself, I kiss him softly on the cheek, and I allow my arm to wrap around his waist.

"We both lost our baby," I whisper. "I screwed up, by listening to Chas and Tracy and not going to see a real doctor," I said. "It's my fault."

"It's not your fault," he answers. "I shouldn't have pressured you to keep it. I should have known things were wrong with how miserable you were. I shouldn't have sucked as a..."

"Stop it," I needle him. "You didn't suck. Not as my boyfriend, not as my fiance, not as the baby's father."

"Yeah I did!"

"Steven, no, you didn't," I repeat, watching him down the rest of his drink, and I ease mine over to him. "Do you really think that?"

"We're here, aren't we?" He asks, gesturing to the barroom. "We're having this conversation here, because this is where I've been most likely to be since you lost the baby. Doesn't that tell you something?"

"It tells me that you're upset," I say. "It's okay to be upset. It's okay for me to cry my eyes out when I go to sleep at night, just like it's okay for you to come here with Mike to drown your sorrows in cheap booze. Don't beat yourself up for trying to deal with your grief!"

"Chas wouldn't --"

It's clear to me that Steven has no idea about what Chas is really like, about the fact that he was right about him all along, and about what Chas had tried to do with me in our apartment a mere twenty minutes before.

"Chas is an ass."

"What happened?" He asks, staring at me, and I look into his eyes and see that his are just as hurt as mine are. "Did he try something with you?"

"He came by," I start slowly. "'Bout half an hour ago. He brought me flowers," I explain. "I only opened the door because I thought maybe that it was you. I wanted it to be you."

"What happened?"

"He kissed me. I pushed him away, Steven," I hastily add, not wanting him to hate me again. "And he was all confused, and he said that he was 'only trying to comfort a good friend'." I look down at my lap, at the skirt I'd borrowed from Jessica, and I feel tears coming to my eyes. "I told him that I couldn't be his friend anymore then. Please don't hate me," I added in a whisper. "I didn't want him to kiss me."

I start to cry, not even caring that my tears are completely ruining my makeup, not even caring that everyone in the bar has developed a sudden interest in our conversation, all I care about is that Steven's lips are brushing against mine and his hands are in my hair and he doesn't hate me, even though I really think he should.

"I don't," he says, softly. "I don't hate you, babe."

"You don't?"

He shakes his head. "I hate that you're crying, and I hate that he did that to you, and I hate that we're still in the bar where I ripped the felt on the pool table." Despite my tears, I let out a snort. "But I don't hate you," he assured me. "I could never hate you."

I know what I'm about to say before I ask it. "Come home?" I manage, hiccuping loudly. "With me, I mean."

"Of course."

He offers me a napkin, before dabbing at my eyes with it. "Sorry I cried," I say, lamely, but meaning it all the same. "Sorry I made you think that you had to leave, sorry I was so awful to you, sorry -- "

He cuts me off with a kiss, then he pulls away. "You had a sip of that beer, right, babe?" He asks, and when I nod he grins. "Good. Didn't really want to be kissing Bresinsky," he said with a smirk, and I manage a laugh, though it is a shaky one.

"I'd washed my mouth out," I retort. He grins.

"What do you say we go home?" He says, helping me off of the stool. "You can wash off Jessica's warpaint and I'll make us some dinner?"

"That sounds nice," I reply, wrapping my arms around him. "Care to tell me why you managed to tear the felt on a pool table?"

He chuckles. "During dinner."