Final Cut

“Medellín is not a movie. It's life. It's how it is. And I defy anyone to define where life stops and the film starts .... Or vice versa.” –Billy Walsh

Notes:

Written for Ceares at the 2008 Entourage Fest. See end for prompt.
Acknowledgments: So you know how they say it takes a village to raise a child? Well, for me fic is like that. Dancinbutterfly sat with me, and listened to me, and made me write and told me she was proud of me. I would not have written this fic without her. She's kind and patient and gave me bits of her fic to live off of while I was writing this. Fashes not only held my hands and told me where I just wasn't going there quite enough, she watched the whole flipping series which she swore to me she hated before she graciously agreed to help me with this, and then had the grace to let herself get sucked in. That's a true friend. loose_pages_sd is a freaking awesome beta. She told me things I didn't want to hear, slapped me around, and in general made this fic the best it could be. roxymissrose, miss-soma, and restless_jedi all read parts and parcels for me, cheered me on and told me what was hot and what was not. These are important things to know, damn it. And, last, but not least, my mother plotted this sucker out with me before I ever wrote a word, talked it out with me a dozen times and fielded frantic phone calls whenever I got stuck. You are the bomb, Mutti. Plus, I have to give a shout out to my wife who actually said, "Shouldn't you be writing your story right now?" and also "Shouldn't you be taking a break?" I love you all. Thank you.

Work Text:

Sloan sees E on E! after Cannes standing next to Vince on the red carpet of some movie that isn't theirs, dodging questions about Medellín's disastrous reviews. Eric looks tired. She can see the toll of the last year and a half of his life working on that movie and she hates Vincent Chase a little. When Sloan was a little girl she'd sneak downstairs way past her bedtime to crawl into her father's lap, sometimes the only time she'd see him all day. Eric looks just like her father did those nights: suit so expensive it still looks good rumpled, strained around the eyes and just nothing left to give anyone.

It makes her sad and it makes her angry that she still hurts for him. She shouldn't still care about him like this, shouldn't have that little thrill she had when all the buzz was good, shouldn't need to throw her arms around him and make the world go away, shouldn't want to kiss the tired lines barely visible around his eyes, but she does.

That was always their problem, though. Sloan has always been more invested in Eric than he had the capacity to be in her. It's not that he didn't love her. She knows he did. Maybe even still does. He's all heart, has a big one and gives it to every girl he's ever been with. Big enough heart for there to be some left over after spending so much of it on Vince. So there shouldn't have been anything left to give, but there was, always, she knows that E gave her everything he had left. It's just that Vince came first, and Sloan's never been big on leftovers.

She's not bitter. No, really. She isn't. Or, not much. Maybe a little bit, but no one could blame her.

At first she thought it was endearing. E's loyal and passionate, and he works his ass off, which are all good things, all things she still loves about him, all things that belonged to Vince first—since they were kids—and she gets that.

But at some point, she needs to be first. Her mother was never first with her father and she saw what that did to her. As much as Sloan loved her mother, she doesn’t want to be her. She won’t waste her time on someone who is never going to put her first. She just can't. If she 's going to follow in anyone's footsteps it's going to be her stepmother's; Melinda is so much stronger than her mother, demanding to be first in Sloan's father's life and reaping the benefits.

It doesn’t stop her from wanting him, though. Doesn't stop her from thinking about it. Doesn't make her miss him any less just because she knows she made the right call. The only call.

Apparently not the last call, though, since she's dialing his number.

“Sloan? Is everything okay?” he asks, like she wouldn't call him unless she needed him. Which she does, but that's not the point. No one ever calls him unless they need something.

“Everything's fine, Eric,” she says.

“Oh. Okay. Did you need something?”

She laughs a little, short and affectionate. “No, I don't need anything. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I'm confused here,” he stammers a little. How he can be so shy and unsure of himself personally, but so confident and feisty at work mystifies her. Tragically for her resolve, it is just as cute as ever. “I guess I just thought you made it pretty clear that you didn't want to talk to me. I mean ... you said not to call you anymore.”

“I know what I said.” Of course she knows, she was there when she said it, when his voice cracked and he got all defeated. “Doesn't mean I don't miss you.”

The bitterness in his voice when he says, “I thought you were all set for company with the new guy,” is so much better than that little crack she feels almost giddy with relief.

“There's no new guy, Eric.” She smiles so hard he must hear it in her voice, but she doesn't care.

She hadn't expected the “What?” to sound so much like he'd been slapped, though.

“There's no new guy.” She knows she sounds a little sheepish, not happy, but she's a little embarrassed. Sometimes you have to hurt people to protect yourself, but she never wanted to hurt him. Except that one time he lied about her not wanting Vince to go away with them. Blamed her. But that had only lasted a few hours and this had been hurting him for months. “I lied. I wasn't ready to see you that day and I needed more time.”

“What does this mean?” He has that unsettled uncertainty in his voice again and all she wants to do is reassure him. By making love if at all humanly possible. It's been a long time.

She can't keep the leer out of her voice when she asks how quickly he can be naked in her bed.

When he arrives, he wants to talk, but she shushes him and kisses the corners of his eyes and the corners of his lips and takes him to bed. He looks at her like she's a revelation, like she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, kisses the tips of her fingers and palms of her hands and makes love to her until she cries. He wipes away her tears and whispers, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry,” into her hair and it's enough. It's enough.

Except it's not enough.

She calls Tori. Tori's been her best friend since college, since before her mother died, since forever. Tori will tell her what to do. Also, it doesn't hurt that Tori thinks Eric's a jerk and says so whenever Sloan needs to be reminded.

When Eric looked up at her this morning, she thought he might be bleary-eyed and confused, not waking up in his own bed after how tired he was. It wouldn't have been a surprise. But he wasn't confused about where he was, he was just ... surprised, like he never thought he'd get to wake up next to her again. It made her want to crawl back into bed with him and spend the day naked, but then Ari called and E looked at her like she might not let him back in if he left to take care of whatever bullshit needed getting done, so she said, “Go, I'll be here when you get back.”

She had to work anyway. Kinda. If you count Barry Bond's Boot Camp as work, which she does. Having a trust fund is hard work. The point being that she didn't have time to hang around her apartment waiting all day.

She is still pissed.

Tori says that E is the most repressed man she's ever met. Sloan finds this hard to believe, given that Tori's father is an investment banker, but Tori says businessmen are more interesting than your average actor, which actually, Sloan doesn't find hard to believe at all. Kinky bankers aside, Tori may have a point.

As far as Sloan knows, the kinkiest thing E's ever done was with her and Tori. The one time she tried slipping a finger when she was giving him a blowjob he just about had an aneurysm and then was all cute and shy around her for a week. If E hadn't had Vincent Chase for a best friend, she's pretty sure he would have married the first girl he fucked, had twelve Irish-Catholic babies, and never looked back.

Sloan doesn't understand that. For all that she's a good girl, she grew up in Hollywood and she's not quite ready to settle down to the missionary position for the rest of her life. Not that Eric’s totally vanilla; the threesome they had with Tori was hands down the hottest thing that has ever happened to Sloan. A repeat is not happening, though, because it fucked E up.

Tori told her the whole story about him practically stalking her at her hotel the day after. Tori says it was because he didn't fuck her, and that guys get confused. Tori has more experience in this particular area, but no way in Hell is Sloan chancing it. There will be no repeats of any kind because it would fuck her up more than any relationship is worth if she lost her best friend because her boyfriend got confused.

But because Tori is brilliant and never fails her, she now has a plan. It's all about setting the tone for the rest of their relationship, and staking her claim, taking back her power and other empowering feminist shit. It's also a little bit about giving E a taste of his own medicine, because Sloan understands from long years as her father's daughter that sometimes you have to stick it to someone else before you can forgive them. Her dad still hasn't forgiven Ari for leaving him.

“Why the fuck would she say that to me?” Vince asks the room at large as he exhales the smoke and passes the joint back to Turtle.

“I don't know, man. What I can't believe is that E's girlfriend just propositioned you for a threesome and the part you think is fucked up is that she doesn't want you to fuck him,” Turtle says, then inhales deep. Smoke stutters out of his mouth as he says, “That shit is messed up.”

“The allure of the Chase men is legendary, bro.”

“Yeah, she's probably just worried that E is such a pussy that he'll get caught up in your thrall like so many bitches before him.”

“Shut the fuck up, Turtle,” E snaps as he walks into the kitchen, “or do we need to have walk down memory lane to when you had your very own close encounter with the Chase Allure?”

“Yeah, Turtle, that's the future Mrs. E you're talking about,” Johnny says. “Show some respect.”

“Hey, this is respect. I haven't said one fucking word about how tragically pussy-whipped the future Mr. Sloan over here is. Bitch didn't even bat a fucking eyelash, just rolled over and begged for it. No wonder she's worried he's hot to take it up the ass.”

“You know what, fine. Yes. I am whipped. I am a total pussy for having the balls to do what it takes to make up for my own mistakes. I fucked up, not her. So, if I have to get naked with Vince to get her back, then bring it on.”

“Whatever. I still say you're a pussy, but Sloan is way too smart and classy for neighborhood guys like us, not to mention the most smokin' piece you've ever had, so do what you gotta do.”

“Thanks, man.”

“You cool with this, baby bro?” Johnny asks low and quiet, shaking Vince out of his stupor. He's still half listening while Turtle makes plans for them to go down to see a friend of a friend of Shampoo Girl in the Valley to get Property of Sloan tattooed on E’s ass.

Vince chuckles, then replays what Johnny said a couple of times. “What? Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?” When has Vince ever had a problem having any kind of sex with a beautiful woman? Good girl or no, Sloan's no virgin and it's not like she's asking him to fuck a goat or something.

“No reason.” Johnny waggles his eyes cryptically in E's general direction. Way too fucking cryptically for Vince to decipher after Turtle's weed. “Just ... you know.”

He doesn't have time to do more than shrug before E's eyes are rounding on him.

“You are cool with it, aren't you Vince?” E asks, a flash of panic crossing his face. “I can figure something out ... shit.”

“Nah. You know I've got your back,” Vince says as he claps his hand against E's shoulder.

“Yeah, I know,” E says and hauls Vince into a hug.

For no reason at all Vince's chest gets a little tight.

“But seriously, why did she say that to me?”

At eleven o’clock at night on a Tuesday Vince is standing half-naked in Sloan’s cavernous closet with E, who is looking very nervous and fiddling around with the elastic waistband of his silk boxers like he can’t decide if he might need to add a chastity belt or something, when Vince’s phone rings. The ringtone is She Works Hard for the Money, the one he actually has to answer now that he’s the producer of an honest to god studio picture. E snickers when Vince bends over to fish his cell out of the back pocket of his pants, which are at the back of the closet about two miles past Narnia, and falls on his ass. They may have had a little more wine with dinner than Vince was used to, or more likely Turtle just has better weed than normal, but really, what the fuck does Sloan need with all these clothes, anyway?

“Hey, Billy, I’m kind of busy right now. Can I call you back later?” Vince, still crouched on the floor, giggling, chooses that moment to yank down E’s boxers. E yelps as Billy responds, so Vince has to cover his phone for a second before he stops laughing and says, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Tell that cunt bag Suit that if he doesn’t start taking my calls I’m going tell the fucking Foreign Press that he’s an impotent little cocksucker.”

“Hey, E,” Vince says, holding the phone out to be sure Eric can hear the conversation on speaker, “Billy says he’s going to tell the Foreign Press that you are an impotent cocksucker if you don’t start taking his calls.”

E just snorts and jerks his already pretty damn hard cock a couple times in the direction of the phone, right in Vince’s face, and says, “The Foreign Press had you barred last year after that interview you gave about Queen’s Boulevard, dickwad. And I’m not your fucking manager, so stop fucking calling me.”

Billy’s tinny, distorted voice pipes out, “Yeah, well, you are my fucking producer, Suit, so fucking produce yourself when I call you.”

“Do I have to send Lloyd and eight of his most flamboyant friends to come down to your house with the flowcharts showing you where you can shove it again? I know Sven was looking forward to seeing you again after the last time.”

“My boy Vince is a lot of things, an artist, an actor, a fucking superstar, but a producer he is not. I need a suit, Suit, and you’re it. Your name’s in the credits and everything, or can you not be bothered to do anything to earn it besides sucking Vinnie’s dick?”

“Hey, now,” Vince tries to interject, but E beats him to it, grabs the phone and takes it off speaker.

“You know the deal, Billy.” E’s voice is calm and tight, professional, not snarling like Vince can see he wants to be. "Vince is the poor bastard who has to deal with you while I do every fucking thing else or I walk. This is non-negotiable. Do not call me again or, as your producer, Medellín won’t be the only film I fire you from this year.”

E looks ready for a fight when he snaps Vince’s phone shut and chucks it at Vince’s chest.

“Whoa there, Tiger,” Vince says, “save it for Sloan.”

“Fuck, Vince,” E says and runs his fingers through his hair like he’s thinking of ripping it all out by the roots.

“Hey, I know you hate the guy. You never have to talk to him again, okay? I promise. I just thought it was funny.”

“What? Oh, right, fuck that guy, and you too for putting him on speaker when you promised me your first born child if I would take over producing when you were on your knees begging like a little bitch, that you would handle that douche and I wouldn’t even know he was there.”

“Okay, Rumplestilskin. If that heavy sigh and hair pulling wasn’t about Billy, what’s up?”

“Just … fuck. This is going to sound stupid, but if you could just not do whatever it is you always do that ruins women for any other man tonight, that would be great.” It clearly isn't a joke, even if E does try to laugh it off a little at the end there.

Some men might go for sympathy in a case of insecurity like this (not men Vince knows personally, witness Turtle and Johnny), and Vince has always tried not to be an insensitive dick like his father, but if Vince gives in to the temptation to be sensitive, there is no way they are ever getting out of this closet, so he says, “You want me to take a dive? That’s cold man.”

“You know what I mean, Movie Star. Just don’t make me compete with you, okay? Just this once?”

“You saying you can’t handle a little competition, E? I was going to bet you a thousand bucks that I can make her come twice for every time you do tonight, but if you’re going to be a pussy about it…”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. It is on.”

Sloan is seriously the hottest woman E's ever been with and that's including the Perfect 10 model, who was way out of his league. Vince was clear on that before he saw Sloan naked. Right now, though, he can see why E's doing everything in his power to lock this deal up and chain her to his bed, because god damn. Vince has had sex with porn stars who didn't look as good as Sloan laid out and panting with her legs spread wide, thighs actually, literally quivering where they're brushing against E's face. Vince doesn't think E has to worry about that G though, because Vince likes pussy, sure, but eating out is not the Olympic sport for him that it clearly is for E.

Sloan is naked and moaning rough and low. Her skin is slick with sweat beneath her breasts and the top of her belly. The backs of her thighs keep slipping off E's shoulders until she just quivers all of a sudden. Her thighs fall open and Vince can see E's mouth on her someplace slicker. Vince can't even move, just watches her fist her hands in the sheets and stares at them.

He still hasn't moved by the time Sloan locks eyes with Vince as she's coming and E's humping the sheets and groaning, and they don't fucking need Vince at all. Sloan's still looking at him when she pushes E off with her foot and he'd swear those are come hither eyes, except she shakes her head a little when he makes a move toward her and nods in E's direction.

E is on his back at her feet, dick hard, chest heaving, and Vince doesn't know what to do with that. He crawls across the bed anyway when Sloan nods again until he's on top of him, careful not to drag his dick up against E's and start humping him like a dog. E looks up at Vince like he forgot that he was even there, then licks his lips and smiles wicked and down right slutty. Sloan, the bitch, chooses that moment to literally kick his ass and then giggles when he falls into a heap on top of E.

Vince hasn't been shy about sex since the first time he got some in the 8th freaking grade, but fuck. He skitters back on his heels and runs smack into Sloan. She drapes herself over his back, presses her breasts along skin that's just broken out in cold sweat and wraps her arms around his waist, rakes her fingers through the hair on his chest and twists one of his nipples. She crooks her finger at E twice and then suddenly E is up close and personal again.

E's looking at Sloan, not him, kisses her over Vince's shoulder hot and dirty. He's so close Vince can smell her on E's mouth, wants a taste and then gets it without even having to ask. The kiss doesn't last but a second, probably because Vince is shock still and not breathing until E drags his tongue along the shell of Vince's ear and whispers, “Come on, man. You're an actor. Act like you want it.” Licks again and says, “The lady wants a show.”

Vince snaps out of it, whatever it was that was freezing him inside his head, and then it is on. The lady wants a show, the lady gets a show. He can do that. He gets paid to do that, and he does a mean love scene.

He kisses E like he wants it, like all he's wanted in his whole life is to stick his tongue down his best friend's throat. Kisses E like he needs it to keep breathing, both hands on E's face holding him there, with his thumbs rubbing against E's cheekbones. Kisses him until he can't breathe and then kisses him more until they all fall back down into the bed. Then he drags his face down E's throat and sucks kisses into the stubbled skin. Sloan's still clinging to his back on the top of the heap, shivering and chanting, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” against Vince's neck and jerking him like she can't get enough.

Vince feels like he's dying. He can't breathe without E's mouth on his, too hot, too much. Says “Please-” like he's broken and then they're all rolling over and E's kissing him again and it's all good and he doesn't even notice that Sloan's hand slipped off his dick when they moved.

Watching Vincent Chase make out with her boyfriend is the new winner of Hottest Thing Ever. It's hotter than watching E jerk himself off watching Tori lick her pussy and it really didn't seem like there could be anything hotter than that at the time. This is. This so, so fucking is and even though she just came, she can't stop sliding her fingers in and out of her cunt in time to the grinding of their hips.

Then all of a sudden Vince makes a sound like a hurt animal and breaks away from the kiss. Next thing she knows, Vince has E's dick in his mouth, and E's making these fucking broken sounds and staring at her with his pupils blown all to hell, hands wrapped in Vince's hair, holding on for dear life. She's dripping down her thighs by the time he comes and she can't wait one more god damn second for somebody to fuck her. Vince looks like he could come from a stiff breeze right now and there is just no time to wait, so Sloan fucking tackles him and grips his dick tight while she sinks down on him.

She maybe underestimated Vince, though. The word is stamina. She's so wrung out she can barely move when E pulls her off Vince and back against his chest. She's not done, she wants to say, because she's not, not even close to done, but before she can protest, Vince is back inside her, fucking her back into E, E's blunt fingers rubbing her clit till she's keening.

When Vince comes he's got his face mashed up against her throat, begging, and in that moment she doesn't even mind that it's not her name coming out of his mouth. After all, this was never about her, not for Vince.

She only minds a little when he drags his head off her shoulder, looks up at E and says it again.

Vince is bizarrely let down by the lack of morning after cuddling to tease E about. He had witty things just waiting to be said. Some glib one liners. Maybe a stuffed animal. Okay, he may or may not have had Turtle look into the existence of a Cuddle Bear. There isn't one, but there may or may not be a Best Friend Bear in a box under E's bed just waiting for the right time to jump out and cuddle someone to death.

Turtle was all over that shit. Some girl thought it was cute and spent three hours helping him pick out the best Post-Coital Bear for maximum humiliation. Vince is going to have to call him off on that one, though, since post-coital cuddling wasn't on the menu. Still, Vince is totally not sorry at all for laughing his ass off at the other bear Turtle brought home, courtesy of his personal shopper, a little yellow thing with a sun on its belly. Seriously, Vince hasn't laughed that hard in forever. Classic.

He can't help cracking a smile just thinking about it, even though he's trying to be stealthy and avoid any morning after weirdness. He's still hitching up his pants when Sloan's eyes flutter open. She doesn't say anything, doesn't even move, just smiles a little and winks at him before dozing back off.

Vince isn't really sure what to do with that.

Once he gets his pants on he sits heavily in the chair where he thinks he left his t-shirt last night. He gropes around for it a little but he kinda lost his momentum and now he's just sitting there barefoot in nothing but his favorite jeans, staring at the bed.

It's not dark in the room, what with all the floor to ceiling windows barely covered with some light, gauzy crap. It's not like he has to strain to see them lying there on the bed, just the way they were when Vince crawled out. E's on his back with one pale-ass freckled arm hanging off the side of the bed, the other wrapped around Sloan's shoulder, holding her loose against his side. Her skin looks like milk chocolate in this light next to E's skin. The tips of her fingers are pink where they brush up against E's tattoo. Her arm draped across his chest, her dark hair spilling out over E's bicep, the white sheet pulled up to their waists and nothing else: it's stunning. Really, it's like art, and not that fucked up shit Gary Busey makes.

He doesn't realize how tired he is until he's curled up in the chair and the light's all different and E's tucking a blanket around his shoulders.

E whispers, “Sleeping Beauty,” and brushes the hair away from Vince's face. Vince doesn't open his eyes until the door closes and he's alone.

Sloan feels a little like she's living in a frat house.

It's not like she moved in or anything, it's just that she's sleeping there just about every night and sometimes just doesn't make it home for more than twenty minutes during the day. She hadn't realized how much a part of Eric's life she wasn't until she was.

The first night she stayed over (nearly two months ago, god, time flies) and she realized that it was in fact the first time she'd ever stayed over, it felt a little weird. Like she was invading or something. But then she woke up in Eric's bed and even though he was still asleep, it didn't feel weird at all to slip into one of his shirts and pad down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The boys catcalled her all the way down the hall, but she just laughed. It wasn't weird at all to sit around the little breakfast table with Vince and steal bits of the paper back and forth while Johnny made breakfast. The little squeal she let out when E snuck up behind her and wrapped his arms around her was happiness. It wasn't weird at all, except for how weird it wasn't.

She's still happy here, on her day off, shaving her legs in the shower with E's razor and humming along with the music blaring through the wall E's bathroom shares with Turtle's. She has Eric's bizarrely floral scented shampoo and her own toothbrush and she's going to use them, then walk down the hall and steal one of Turtle's comfy-ass t-shirts from the laundry room and watch The Godfather with Vince, who is taking time off after Silo finally wrapped. E will be home later when he's done fighting about the special effects budget and whatever else he does during post-production, and they'll all eat the curry Johnny's been talking up for days and at the end of the night she'll be tucked up in bed with E and do it all again on Sunday.

It doesn't quite go that way, though.

It goes so much better.

Sloan is throwing handfuls of popcorn at Vince for trying to distract her from her monologue by playing footsie with her. Turtle is rolling on his side laughing his ass off while she does her best Vito Corleone.

“We've known each other many years, but this is the first time you came to me for counsel, for help. I can't remember the last time that you invited me to your house for a cup of coffee, even though my wife is godmother to your only child. But let's be frank here: you never wanted my friendship,” she recites, going for her deepest baritone and brushing her hand against her jowls.

Johnny pipes in with Bonasera's lines and it's all she can do not to crack up. Vince body checks Johnny and cuts in just in time to smolder at her, say, “Be my friend–,” kiss her hand slow and just a little bit dirty, then crunch a piece of popcorn that just fell out of his hair and lick his lips. “–Godfather?”

Actors.

They are all laughing at Johnny banging his chest like an ape and grunting while he picks popcorn lice out of Vince's hair when Eric calls out, “Hi, Honey, I'm home,” and drops onto the couch next to her, tie all askew and a beer in his hands. He looks good enough to eat, so she swings herself into his lap and kisses him like a porn star to the hoots and hollers of the boys. She runs her fingers coquettishly along the top of her 100% cotton over-sized t and bats her eyelashes.

“Welcome home,” she says, in her Don Corleone voice. The boys crack up all over again.

“E, your girl is funny as shit. Marry her or I will,” Turtle chokes out, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

Johnny chimes in, “Yeah, E, when you gonna make an honest woman of our girl, here? I already have the perfect tux, and the bridesmaids promise to be choice.”

“Dream on, Drama. Sloan's friends wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole. But now that you mention it,” E swings her around and plants her on the couch with a little bounce, gets down on one knee and pulls a little blue box out of his pocket. “How 'bout it, Sloan? You wanna get hitched?”

Vince feels like he's been sucker-punched.

Actually, it seems like everybody feels that way, like all the air has been sucked out of the room, until Turtle yells, “Holy shit!” and then everyone breathes again.

Sloan looks as stunned as Vince feels as E unwraps the little white ribbon from the little blue box and that isn't a fucking love bracelet, that's an engagement ring. One of those classy ones Jewelry Store Girl used to go on about. E probably knows the name, too, everything about it perfect. An Etoile, sleek and classy like Sloan, with a diamond floating in the center that says E's 10% of Vincent Chase is starting to pay off.

There are tears welling up in Sloan's eyes as E takes the ring out of the box and slides it on her finger.

There's two ways this can go, Vince realizes as he watches them kiss. He can throw up beer and popcorn and bile right there and ruin E's big moment. Or. He can get drunk.

“Let's celebrate!” He hops up from the couch, giant grin plastered across his face. “Everybody get dressed, we're going out. Champagne's on me. Last one in the car has to be an usher!”

Johnny takes the couch like a hurdle and Turtle's right behind him scrambling toward their rooms to get ready. They are long gone before E scoops Sloan up and carries her off to his room like she's already his bride.

Vince decides to go with option one anyway. He pukes his guts up in a planter on the balcony while he's getting some air. He needed to change his shirt before they went out anyway.

Eric carries her all the way to his room and lays her out on his bed like a fairy tale princess. Her hair is a wreck and she's wearing a ratty t-shirt the size of a smock and a pair of eight year old cotton underwear with a hole in the ass. She feels like a goddess. She wants to stay here and let him make love to her all night, but the boys are waiting and no way will they have enough time for all that. They'll have plenty of time later, when it's just the two of them, after the guys pass out, in the morning before anyone wakes up, the rest of their lives.

So when he kisses her deep with promise, she laughs and bats him away and says they have to get ready. Eric is down with that plan and starts getting her ready by slipping his fingers up under the sides of her white cotton panties and pulling them off.

She retaliates by attacking his belt and ripping off his tie and there will probably be buttons on the floor under the bed, because she sure as hell didn't take the time to unbutton that bitch on the way into the closet, but the shirt is hanging open at the sides as he fucks her up against his Armani. The racks are just sturdy enough for her to pull herself up to get him inside just right, fuck her just like that, fuck, fuck, that suit is never going to be the same.

It's over quick, but Eric keeps kissing every bit of bare skin he can get to while she pulls herself together and into the slim pickin's she's left in his closet over the last month. By the time she's dressed, she's just about ready to drag him back to bed, but Johnny and Turtle are banging on the door and they're being dragged out to the club.

Vince is the first in the car.

In addition to being a sick fuck who apparently can't stand to see his friends happy, Vince is also an actor, so by the time everyone's piled in the Hummer, he's in love with the world, happy for his friends, and ready to celebrate. He deserves an Oscar for the performance. Not for one second does he go out of character and by the end of the night even he can't tell what's part of the act and what's genuine affection for E and Sloan, except for the nagging need to shoot something when he sees light glint off the rock on Sloan's hand.

It only gets worse the next day when, after listening to three progressively more batshit messages from Billy, Vince realizes that E has a bunch of empty cardboard boxes and packing tape stacked in the hallway. Completely baffled ,he says, “What the fuck, E?”.

“You wanna give me a hand with these boxes, Movie Star?”

“Uh, no, E. I do not. Going through your underwear drawer to make room for Sloan's shit is not my idea of a good time. No offense. How much room does she need, exactly?”

“About twice as much space as we have in here, which is why I'm moving in with her.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up there. You're moving out?”

“What'd you think I was going to do, Vince? I'm getting married. You really think we were gonna live here with you and Turtle?”

“You aren't married yet, E.”

“I don't want to fuck this up, Vince.” Again, Eric doesn't say. Because of you, Vince hears anyway.

“So the both of you live here until you get married and then find a place that's both of yours. After Medellín pays off you can buy a house. She practically lives here already. I'll even help move her boxes.”

“You've seen Sloan's apartment, Vince. There is no way her stuff fits in here.”

“So you two take my room. Problem solved.”

“Vince–”

“Come on, E. Just until the wedding and then I'll buy you a new place.”

“I don't need you to buy me a house, Vince.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah, I'll talk to her. But we are totally taking your room.”

“Excellent. So what do you say we ditch the boxes and hit the road?”

“Where are we going?”

“To see Jewelry Store Girl.”

“You buying my girl jewelry now?”

“No. You are buying your girl jewelry. I am just going along because I need to say good bye to my bed properly. No way it fits in your tiny little room.”

“Fine, but we're getting new sheets, too, and you're buying.”

“You didn't see his face, Sloan. He looked like he was about to have a panic attack. I just can't leave him, yet.”

She really should have seen this coming.

The very first thought Sloan has is that she was right the first time, that she never, ever should have come back to him, that Vince would always take priority, and if this was how they were going to start their life together then she'd just rather skip the whole thing. She hates Vince and she hates Eric and most of all she hates herself for putting herself in this position. Again. She almost says it all right out loud, almost screams in frustration and vents all her grievances and then in a startling moment of clarity she realizes that she has actually become her mother and stops herself.

Then she rationalizes. It's not like she's not practically living there already. She had to if she ever wanted to see E during the shoot for Silo and then she just never got around to dragging E back to her place. She likes the house and she likes the boys and the location is very convenient, all reasons why she's been sleeping there six nights a week without anyone asking her to in the first place. She's only been holding on to the seventh night a week because she has to do laundry and get clothes and frankly it would be a lot easier to just have all her things at the house in the first place and let their maid do her laundry for her.

Besides, Eric is right. It does make more sense for them to save money right now so they can buy a place of their own once they're married. They're getting married, not just living together, she reminds herself. It makes a difference when it's actually going somewhere, when cohabitation isn’t just a weigh station on the way to Columbia or a safe place to regroup. Her stepmother's already told her that her father wants to give them money toward a house as a wedding gift, so there's no harm in letting E stay with his boys a little longer. It's not like they'll be there forever, just a few months until the wedding.

She goes through all that in the space of a few seconds, exhales deeply, wraps herself up in his arms and says, “It's fine, Eric. I wouldn't want you boys to get separation anxiety prematurely.” She means it, too. As much as she wishes she didn't care, she doesn't want to hurt Vince any more than Eric does and just this once, she knows he's not exaggerating how hard this is for Vince.

“It's just until we get married,” Eric promises, kisses her just below her ear and fastens a Cartier gold link necklace around her neck. Then he unfastens her clothes and makes love to her for the last time in her bed in her apartment in nothing but her beautiful new chain.

Vince sends Eric on a wild goose chase to find the writer of a screenplay he vaguely remembers as having been interesting enough to finish reading. Actually, he thinks it was probably a book a girl left after she made him act out the good parts, not a script, and now that he thinks about it, the author may in fact be French. It was good though, and if they ever make it into a movie there is a part that is perfect for him. It's not the lead, but the character is central, charming and tragic, and all of that appeals to Vince. Plus, it was hot. Like, really hot. Girls have awesome books.

While E is off tracking down a man who wrote a script who is actually a woman who wrote a book no one is ever going to make into anything but a porno, Vince sends a car to take Sloan to some day spa Shauna swears is the best place in town. He read the brochure she sent him and it sounds damn good. He may have to go down to recover after he gets blown up in reshoots for Silo. Billy's been bitching about the FX all week, but that shit hurts. Thank god E is a stingy bitch when he's in charge of the checkbook. Still, a massage and two hot girls buffing his nails doesn't sound bad at all.

But not today. Today Vince has shit to do.

Once Shauna found out what he was planning for today, and that the spa isn't really for him or anyone even remotely believable as his lady friend, she washed her hands of the whole thing because, “God damn it, Vince, this is why you have Eric, to talk you out of shit like this! If anyone finds out about this – Christ! What is Eric thinking leaving you alone with Turtle?” Which was why he called Lloyd, who activated some kind of gay Mafia, and that is how the house came to be filled with a small army of fabulous gay guys. It's Shauna's own damn fault if this ends up in Variety. At some level Vince thinks he might get a kick out of a blind item about his Big Gay House Party, but mostly he likes his career so...

Turtle dropped him off earlier and is now off doing whatever it is that Turtle does to get his Shampoo Girl to work her magic. After the bunny suit and the Care Bears, Vince really doesn't want to know. He just hopes it doesn't involve Arnold or costumes this time.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, this happens to be one of the two days Johnny has to be on set, so Vince is on his own. On the one hand, it would have been nice to have some help. On the other hand, Vince feels a little weird being here again and maybe it's a good thing Johnny isn't here to watch. His brother can be scarily perceptive at the worst possible moments and Vince really, really doesn't want to examine why he's doing any of this.

The thing of it is, Vince likes to think of himself in certain ways, ways that may or may not stand up to even the slightest bit of self-reflection. He likes to think of himself as being cool, not just having cool stuff, but actually being cool with whatever. He prides himself on just how cool he can be, but he also knows it's bullshit and he isn't cool about anything he really cares about. Johnny knows that, too, and he isn't afraid to call Vince on it if he thinks it's for his own good. He loves Johnny for that, but today is not the day he wants to be revealed for the train wreck he is. Today is the day for him to be James fucking Bond.

See, he also likes to think of himself as crafty; he has five older brothers and his little sister is nosy as hell, so even though his skills may be a little bit rusty, they were honed to fucking perfection not a decade ago. He got the keys to Sloan's place from E. Or, well, Turtle got the keys from E after E's car mysteriously wouldn't start. Vince hounded him so much he just took the Hummer and gave Turtle mechanic duty. It was pretty damn slick, went down just liked he planned it, Eric none the wiser.

So now he's all alone in Sloan's apartment, sitting on Sloan's bed and touching Sloan's things. Vince knows that he is being more than vaguely creepy, but he really can't help himself at this point. The last time he was here he was naked and so was she and so was E, and it was her idea, so he's having a hard time feeling bad about it. Still, he knows it's all kinds of wrong to bury his face in her pillows and inhale good and deep, but at least he didn't go for her panties. Those he just scoops up and puts into one of the Hefty bags he brought and waits for Turtle to come get him.

Sloan’s so relaxed after the spa that she doesn't even notice that she hasn't told the driver where to take her until the car stops and he opens her door. It's not really a surprise to be deposited back at the house, but she doesn't have any clothes and using her own shampoo sounds really good right now. Whatever, it's not like she's going anywhere. Bed, maybe.

Turtle looks like he's about ready to bounce out of his skin when Sloan walks in. She'd think he was maybe due for some pot if he and Vince weren't already passing a bong back and forth. Vince looks like his spine has melted he's so chilled out, sprawled indecently on the couch, arms slung across the back, legs spread wide. He looks like sex like this and she shivers a little. Vince smirks at her and pats the couch cushion next to him in a nonverbal command for her to sit.

What she really wants is a shower. The spa was amazing, but she still has oil in her hair and little bits of mud ... elsewhere. E really needs to stop giving her lavish gifts, but for the sake of domestic tranquility she'll overlook it this one time and just say thank you in every way her fully relaxed body can. She drops down onto the couch with Vince, takes a hit and just sort of melts. The more mellow she gets the more Turtle fidgets, though, and she knows something has to be up when Vince flips to some decorating show on the Home and Garden channel and Turtle practically chokes on his own saliva.

“Alright. The jig is up. What's going on?”

“I'll tell you, but I can't be held responsible for the legal repercussions,” Vince says, all mock-seriousness ruined by a giggle. “You see, Turtle and I are currently partaking of illicit drugs. Shhhhh.”

Turtle offers her the bong. “You want another hit?”

She just smiles and shakes her head as she moves to get up. “Lovely to see you boys, but I am ready for --” a shower, she was going to say, but then Eric walks into the room already ranting. She can practically see steam coming out his ears.

“If you ever fucking send me on a wild goose chase all over fucking town in hundred degree weather I will kick your skinny ass, you dick. I spent four hours on the ten, and for what? There is no script, Vince. It's a figment of your fucking imagination.”

Vince does that cute little boy in trouble thing he does, looks up at E through his eyelashes and rubs his hand back through his hair like he's nine years old. “Yeah, about that. After you left I realized it was a book by some French chick I read. Sorry?”

“Sorry? What, your phone doesn't work now? You couldn't, I don't know, call me? You are such a fucking dick.”

“Yeah, I'm sorry. Now sit down and kiss your fiancée while I hit the can. I'll buy you both dinner to make up for it.”

She watches Vince hop off the couch and then pats the seat he vacates for Eric just the way Vince did for her. Despite how it sounds E's day has been going, her day has been wonderful, so she kisses him hello like she means it and loosens his tie. Which is right about when Turtle says, “My eyes!” and rushes out of the room mumbling something about helping Vince. She'd take the time to laugh about that, but she's having fun kissing Eric and unbuttons the top three buttons on his shirt instead. By the time Vince gets back she's got his shirt pulled out of his pants and is just about to slip her hand under it.

Vince says, “Hey now, nobody needs to see that. Take it to your room!” She might think he was being serious if he wasn't smiling like a crazy person and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“You owe me for today, douche,” Eric says, flipping Vince off with one hand and cups her breast through her blouse with the other.

“No, really. Get a room,” Turtle yells from the hallway. “There are rules here, people! If you're going to be living here, you're going to have to try and keep it in your pants until you're in the privacy of your own room, Sloan.”

This time Sloan does stop to laugh high and clear. “I'll try to keep that in mind, Turtle. I wouldn't want to offend your delicate sensibilities.” She drags E up off the couch and pulls him down the hall behind her.

They are half-way to the room before Vince shouts, “Where are you two chuckle heads going?”

“To my room, where you sent us, asshole,” E says, flipping Vince the bird once again.

“You're going the wrong way,” Vince says, and she can just hear the mischief in his voice.

“I think I know where my bedroom is, Vince. Maybe you and Turtle should think about hitting that bong a little less.”

When Vince puts on his guileless, innocent face, and says, “But, E, your room is down here,” she knows this has something to do with whatever has been up since she walked in the door.

“No,” Eric says like he's talking to a slow child, “That's your room.”

Vince just smiles.

E looks confused for a second and then totally abandons her to hug Vince like he hasn't seen him in forever, then cuffs Vince across the back of his head. “Jesus, you moron, I was just joking about that.”

Clearly Sloan has missed something, but she smiles anyway. Their affection for each other in this particular moment is very endearing, whatever harebrained thing Vince did to elicit the response.

“Well, you gonna look?” Vince asks, pushing the door to his bedroom open behind him.

“After you,” Eric says, mock gracious to throw Vince off before he tackles him trying to get through the door at the same time. Neither one of them makes it quite all the way through, though. They just sort of scrap around on the floor until Vince has E pinned down and sits on him.

E is flushed and breathing hard, staring up at the ceiling while Vince laughs and says, “Ladies first,” and waves her through the door. Pretty a picture as that is, it's nothing to compare with what she finds after she steps over them and across the threshold.

“It's beautiful, Vince,” she says, though that's an understatement. It's stunning. The walls are bright, like carmine red just out of the tube in the set of oils she has a home, but there's so much white in the room, it isn't overpowering. The floors are new, some kind of wood stained so dark it's ebony. The moldings are new as well, white just like the gauzy curtains cascading down the wall and pooling on the floor just inches from the rug, which is white with a thin, black border just like the dozens of lilies in blue glass vases all throughout the room. Eyeliner lilies, she knows from the flower arranging class she took abroad.

“It's yours.”

Once he's said it, she sees it. This is her room, hers and Eric's. The knickknacks scattered throughout the room that at first glance just look like decorator's set dressings are hers, from her summers in Italy, things her father brought back for her from business trips, things she picked out from her mother's house after she died. The books on the tall, white shelves are hers and the little bench under the vanity is the one she had reupholstered in powder blue silk. Then she notices other things. Eric's things.

His neon sign doesn't look garish at all over top of the wide floor-to-ceiling mirror in the corner by the faded blue dressing screen she bought at a flea market in college. The framed pinstriped Yankee's jersey she could never see fitting in her apartment is here and it looks like it belongs there against the red, red wall over the long, low dark wood dresser littered in designer frames filled with photographs of her family and E's, the boys, her and Tori.

E and Vince are talking in the background, but she is too involved in exploring to hear what they are saying. When she pulls open the drawers, her pj's and her panties are there. In the closet, her clothes hang just across the aisle from Eric's Armani suits and Ralph Lauren shirts. There are neat rows of her shoes just above his and she finds that delightful in a way she always thought herself too sophisticated to feel. She drags her fingers along the soft wool of Eric's jackets as she walks out of the closet and heads into the en suite.

Again, white everywhere, except the bathtub. It's inset in the floor and huge, made up of thousands of tiny blue tiles. It's stunning, filled to the brim with water, candles in little glass bowls floating along with what at first she thinks are tiger lilies, but on closer inspection turn out to be mostly some kind of scarlet red lily accented every so often throughout the tub with bright yellow flowers, lilies again. It's the most sensual thing she's ever seen and if she didn't know better, she'd think this was a seduction scene.

She looks away from the tub and notices that in addition to the fluffy, white towels piled everywhere, there are maybe twenty tall, fat bottles of her favorite shampoo, the skin care line she can't live without, bottles of perfume she only ever wears on special occasions. Everything she loves to use, all laid out on cold white marble counter tops next to a cup with Eric's toothbrush bumping into hers. There are even matching his and hers blue silk robes she's never seen before hanging from the back of the door.

She doesn't know the boys are there before Vince says, “Do you like it?” anxiously, like he's actually concerned that there is some kind of possibility that she won't.

“It's amazing. How did you do all this?” she asks, waving her hand at the bottles, but really meaning everything, the whole gorgeous, amazing thing. “How did you know?” Because he did somehow know, not just the brand of her shampoo, but the things from her apartment that were important and the things that were just things.

“Gay mafia. Plus, Turtle and I did some recon. Here's your keys back, by the way,” Vince says, slapping E's keyring into E's hand. “Sorry about your car.”

Later, she will freak out a little and wonder how long Vince spent in her apartment, what he saw and where he sat and what he touched, if he was the one who emptied out her underwear drawer, if he found the box of toys under her bed, but for now she just throws her arms around him, kisses his cheek and says, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he says fondly and kisses her head before returning her to Eric. “Dinner's still on me, but Turtle and I are gonna split. We have reservations at Johnny's for the night. Food's out on the terrace.”

Eric says, “Thanks, man,” and shakes Vince's hand, pulls him in for another tight hug and pounds him on the back.

And then Vince is gone and it's just the two of them alone for the first time in a place that's theirs and she never wants to leave.

All Vince can think about is how much he wants to leave. It's not that he doesn't love Johnny, it's that he's tired. Tired like the end of day filming with a 4 AM call that doesn't finish shooting until after midnight. The combination of all that pot and all that packing and all eight progressively more psychotic calls from Billy since noon and the three different organic microbrews Johnny forced on them when they walked in the door is catching up with him. Johnny and Turtle are speculating about what exactly E and Sloan are doing (Johnny thinks missionary position in the bed, under the covers with the lights out at first, but then decides that E is such a pussy, Sloan's probably on top. Turtle says they damn well better be doing it doggy style in the tub, all the trouble he went to lighting those damn candles.) when Vince drops his head into a puddle of his own arms on the counter and leaves it there until Turtle shakes him and pours him into the car.

“Normally, I'd just dump your ass in the guest room and hit the club with Johnny,” Turtle explains as they shuffle out the door, “but he says he has a fine honey for me with a BMI of like 12 and he promises that she's not older than the fucking crypt keeper this time. You know I love you, Vin, but I'm not taking any chance that I'm gonna need that room. You can sleep it off at home, you lightweight, skinny bitch.”

Vince just flips him off and falls asleep before they're even out of the parking lot.

He wakes up with his face mashed into the window when the car pulls up to the house and idles. There is drool on the glass, which he manfully ignores, just sort of casually wipes off his face with his sleeve.

“Need me to tuck you in, princess?” Turtle asks, more concern in his tone than his words might otherwise imply. He looks like he might actually be contemplating it.

“Nah, just drop me here.” Vince rubs his eyes, shakes his head and bumps fists with Turtle. “Good luck with Miss 12 BMI.”

“Tonight, I don't need luck. In addition to providing rock bottom prices on all that expensive as hell beauty crap for Sloan, Shampoo Girl hooked me up with some new kicks. I look too sharp not to score without your ass around to steal all the hotties.”

Turtle hangs around until Vince gets in the door before he peels out of the parking lot. He must really look bad. Turtle doesn't even do that for chicks. By the time Vince makes it up the stairs he's ready to crash. He gets as far as the couch.

It turns out the couch is sadly much less comfy than it looked when he bought it. He flops around for ten minutes, falls on his ass and bumps his head on the coffee table, then gives up and drags his ass to bed. Slippery piece of shit's less comfortable than the bar stool at Johnny's and the seat belt chafing his neck in the car combined.

He makes it nearly all the way down the dark hall before he realizes that he took a wrong turn and is two feet away from walking in on E and Sloan spooning with disgustingly sweet post-coital grins on their faces. He practically trips over his own feet in his haste to get the hell out of there, but it's not a whole lot better when he reaches his destination.

What Vince had completely failed to anticipate that morning when he put his master plan into action was that he had painted himself into the corner of E's bedroom. Even with Lloyd getting him the hookup with the Gay Mafia, there hadn't been enough time to redo more than one room. Trying to get it all done in the time allotted was what had left him so tired in the first place. He was pretty much fucked.

He could sleep in the room where Johnny stays when he doesn't want to head home. But he really doesn't want to. All those supplements and health food and ... ointments Johnny likes, well, they leave a lasting impression. The whole room smells like Vitamin Cottage.

So the couch is out, Johnny's room is out, and Vince sure as fuck isn't going anywhere near Turtle's room. Which leaves E's old room. Which has E's old bed in it, with E's old sheets on it and E's old bathrobe from their trip to Italy hanging in the bathroom. Fortunately, it has also only ever had E's old shampoo in it so the pillows don't smell too much like anyone else. It's comforting, really. Even back in the old neighborhood, E'd used girly-ass shampoo. It never fails to make Vince smile.

E's bed is comfortable. The pillows are flat as hell and the sheets are predictably cheap, because E never spends money on stuff unless it makes a marked difference in being able to woo whatever girl he's in love with this week, or Vince makes him. But the sheets are soft with age and the enormous down comforter was clearly picked out when E was trying to impress Emily, so despite not having the thread count Vince is used to, he falls asleep with his face buried in them, still wearing his pants because he can't remember where his clothes went when they cleared out his old room.

Sometime in the night he must have gotten hot and kicked the comforter off, because he wakes up naked and hard. The blanket is completely covering his head, the air is thick and hot and smells like E so much it hurts when he yanks the covers down and gasps in the cool air from the rest of the room. The light from the window is dull, so it has to be late afternoon by now, but nobody bothered to wake him.

Turns out Turtle did need that room at Johnny's and E has had a busy day today since he spent all day yesterday driving around town on a bogus mission. Vince only feels mildly guilty about this when E clicks over to his call waiting less than two minutes into the conversation and then comes back and tells Vince he has to go. He doesn't know where Sloan is but, much like him, she only works when she wants to, so she's probably around somewhere. He stays in his new room.

He's disgusting, itching with sweat that dried on his skin and then broke out again. His hair is plastered to his head on one side and standing straight up on the other and when he looks in the mirror, there is a giant, red crease covering most of the left half of his face. He needs a shower.

The flowery smell of the shampoo in Vince's new shower leftover from the previous tenant doesn't do anything at all to help his persistently half-hard dick, though. He gives it a few half-hearted tugs, but he's too tired to make a go of it. He gives up and finishes washing his hair; it'll go away on its own if he just ignores it. He still doesn't know where his clothes are, so he wraps himself up in the bathrobe on the back of the door and crawls back into bed.

Tori says it's a completely natural reaction. Everyone gets cold feet or whatever. Sloan thinks that this probably should be classified or whatever. The problem is that she can't make it stop. Tori says to just stop fighting it, that what you resist persists and that she will only make it worse if she beats herself up about it. Tori thinks that Sloan should just go with it and indulge in a healthy, adult fantasy life. Tori did have some salient points. Then again, Tori's answer to everything is sex.

More to the point, however, Sloan doesn't seem to have any control over herself at the moment, and anyway she doesn't have any better ideas.

What she does have is a closet full of Eric's clothes, a pair of black, strappy sandals and a cell phone. She wonders if this is how E felt after their threesome with Tori and elects to have one of the roughly three hundred beers the boys keep in the fridge in lieu of following that line of thought.

Two hours later it's three in the afternoon and she's practically crawling out of her skin.

It wasn't the threesome; either one. She was totally fine. It was hot, but it was over and she didn't want a repeat. She still doesn't want a repeat. What she does want is to tie Vincent Chase to a chair and make him watch her fuck the hell out of E on Vince's fucking bed, which he oh-so-thoughtfully left in their bedroom when he chained them to his fucking house for a fucking year. He could afford to hire an army of decorators to transform the room in one day, but couldn't order a new bed?

The sheer, unrepentant passive-aggressive arrogance of that is just pure Vincent Chase. And not the regular spoiled yet adorable Vince, no, this was Vincent Chase at his most over the top, movie star diva and if she had one inkling that Eric knew about it ahead of time and let it happen anyway, she would leave and never look back. She's not sure if she's more angry that Eric didn't notice that she was making love to him in Vince's bed last night, or that he laughed when he noticed in the morning like it was somehow endearing.

The thing that tipped her over the edge to the half-crazy place she's making a home in right now wasn't that Vince was getting some kind of sick thrill out of thinking of them in his bed. Nope. She could have gotten over that; it was even a little flattering in a weird kind of way. But when she walked down the hall to see if her feminine products were still living under the sink in E's old bathroom, she walked in on Vince making himself at home in E's bed, and that's when she lost it.

She calls Eric and tells him that she needs him to come home. Now. He doesn't even ask why, just says, “I'll be right there.”

He's home in less time than it takes to get pizza delivered up here. She's waiting and she's hungry. The sound of his feet hustling up the stairs makes her mouth water.

“Sloan,” he calls out, a little hint of concern that she finds gratifying despite herself colors his voice.

She yells for him from the kitchen. He looks like someone hit him when he sees her, says, “Fuck,” and flushes pink everywhere she can see skin.

Which, as it happens, is far less skin than he can see of hers. Sloan's sitting on the granite counter island with her legs spread wide, a cool beer sweating against her inner thigh, wearing nothing but her strappiest, black Jimmy Choos, E's best tie, a silk Brioni the exact color of his eyes, and her engagement ring.

Vince has this fantasy. Given his life up to this point, it's pretty fucking vanilla, but he thinks that's probably what makes it so damned hard to let go of. He doesn't indulge in it very often, but it's been lurking around in his mind since he was fifteen and had just had his heart honest to god broken for the first time and never, ever wanted to feel that way again.

The fantasy is this: Vince is hiding in his bedroom with the covers pulled over his head. There have been a dozen bedrooms in this fantasy, one for every time he's been heartbroken over something and wanted the world to go away. Usually a part he wanted, something he could have been proud of but failed to get because he's somehow not quite right, a little too pretty, shallow, whatever, but on occasion it was over something more ... real. Meaningful. Doesn't matter. What matters is that he feels like someone has ripped his heart out and left a big gaping hole and Vince deserved it. It has happened more often than he likes to admit to anyone, except maybe Johnny who gets it in a way that no one else has ever gotten Vince.

But back to the fantasy. Somehow in the fantasy he and E are both still fifteen and Vince's Ma is right outside the door making fried egg and bacon sandwiches, cussing like a sailor about whatever idiot didn't appreciate her baby boy. His dad is passed out on the couch and Johnny's out there somewhere keeping the rest of their dickhead brothers out of the room for a few hours while Vince licks his wounds. Vince is hiding under the covers, and instead of hanging back in the door with dingy yellow light from the hallway shining around his silhouette in the doorway, asking who he needs to beat down (the way it really went down), E comes in.

E kicks off his ratty, old Chucks with the sole on the left foot hanging by three strands of glue and a dried out wad of Juicy Fruit, yanks the covers out from around Vince and says, “Scoot over, asshole, you're hogging the covers,” as he slides into bed with Vince and pulls the covers back up. In the fantasy Eric's breath is hot and smells like cinnamon toast. The air under the covers gets thick and just a little too warm to be comfortable, but they don't pull the blankets down at all, not even a crack to get some fresh air. Still, the blankets are kinda thin, so there's just enough light from the afternoon sun to see the outline of E's face, the shy little smile that's just for Vince as E reaches out and runs his fingers through Vince's hair.

“If I had your face,” E says, a little quiet, a lot affectionate as his thumb runs along the shell of Vince's ear.

It annoys Vince when Eric says this in reality, because he never says it quite the way Vince wants him to. But in the fantasy it means something besides, You are a spoiled child and you only make it in this world because you are pretty and How can you be so stupid? I can't believe I still have to take care of you.

It's not hard to imagine shaking his head back to brush off E's hand, only to have Eric follow him and wind up closer, touching all along their fronts, at their knees and their elbows and their hips, faces so close if they licked their lips they'd be kissing, breathing the same air. Then E's hand is back on Vince's face, sweat damp foreheads pressed together, noses bumping just a little bit. It's natural when Vince's arm wraps loose around E's waist and his head drops to E's shoulder. Eric doesn't say anything when Vince's eyes leak just a little bit into the worn cotton of Eric's loose, secondhand Ramone’s t-shirt, just rubs his hand down Vince's back and kisses the top of Vince's head.

It's not a sex fantasy, it's not, but lying here ensconced in E's bed, with E's blankets and E's scent for the third day straight, it kinda feels like one. Dirty and sexual in a way it never did before E was engaged and Vince spent the day dreaming it over and over again and waking up so hard his dick aches.

He orders flowers from the most flamboyant florist in all of WeHo, Leo, one of Lloyd's friends from the other day, and sends them to Sloan. Original Love Lilies, the deep red ones with little black spots he and Turtle snapped two dozen stems off of so they'd float right in the tub. They have to be wilted from how hot Turtle ran the bath water and they looked perfect in E's new bedroom. He doesn't include a card, but if he had the guts it would say, “I'm sorry.”

The kitchen is not where she wants him, she wants to get him to bed, but she's been waiting for almost an hour and she can't wait any longer, so she curls her fingers seductively at Eric and abandons the green glass bottle she's been nursing for twenty minutes to unzip his pants the second he's close enough to reach. He's hot in her hand, velvet and hard in his shorts. He's not tall enough to fuck her on the counter, not quite, so she pulls at his shoulders until he gets the message and climbs onto the counter on top of her and then, christ, they are finally fucking.

They knock over the remainder of her beer. It's cool against her skin where they've warmed the granite beneath her back. It tickles. The smell of hops mingles with the scent of arousal, just makes it hotter when the bottle crashes to the floor. Green glass crunches under E's shoes when he pulls out of her, yanks her hips to the edge counter and heaves her up over his shoulder. Sloan squeals with delight and shivers all over when he slaps her ass, carrying her ass over teakettle to bed.

Their room looks like someone's just had sex in it, bed rumpled as hell with the duvet and top sheet kicked to the floor, pillows thrown haphazardly in all directions. It looks that way because someone has just had sex there, or more to the point, tried having sex there all day. But without the pretty pink Pyrex vibrator Tori gave her when they were in college, taking care of herself just didn't work out for her. Her fingers weren't quite long enough, the angle not quite right, and by the time she gave up she was so fucking frustrated she needed a beer. Hence greeting E in the kitchen. Where the beer is. Had not been her plan, but hey, whatever works.

There is a chair pulled out a little from the wall at an obscure angle. If one were, say, two or three inches taller than Sloan, that chair would in fact be at just the right angle to watch whatever was happening on the bed two large, man-sized steps away. It's the chair from her room in her apartment where Vince sat and watched her sleep wrapped around E, after. It's the chair she's been imagining Vince tied to all day. With the white cotton bathrobe belt he hadn't bothered to use when he stole it from E and made a home in E's bed.

She’s been imagining Vince in that chair for so long that if she doesn’t turn her head to actually look, she can feel Vince’s eyes on her, smell him mixed in with Eric’s smell, hear him breathing. She knows what he looks like slouched over there like he’s not being forced to watch, head hanging low so he doesn’t have to look, looking through his eyelashes anyway, because he can’t not watch E rip off his tie and shuck off his pants while Sloan kneels on the bed and unbuttons his shirt for him. It’s not like Sloan is imagining him naked, watching, and fuck if it doesn’t make her nipples hard and her pussy wet just thinking about it.

Once E’s completely naked, she lets him kiss her hot and desperate as he slides into her, lets him cover her with his body and thrust inside, lets Vince watch E’s ass clench and his hips pump, the muscles of E’s back and the curve of E’s neck straining while E fucks her. Vince’s hands are tied, so it doesn’t matter that he’s got a tent in his pants that would do Barnum and Bailey’s proud, he can’t touch them. And no matter how much he wants it, he can’t touch himself, either. Sloan’s breathing speeds up and she can’t help the little sounds she makes every time E slams home. Vince’s breathing speeds up, too, until it matches hers and they’re breathing in time, until at some point E is groaning and sucking in air like he can’t get enough and she loses Vince.

E is a good boy, so he makes sure she comes before he does, twice, in fact, before he collapses on the bed next to her. Sloan’s not done with him, though, so she slings her thigh over his waist and straddles him. She leans down and kisses him once light on the lips, because he’s still breathing hard, then drags her mouth down his neck and sucks kisses into his skin. There was a moment once, years ago it seems like, when she was throwing some benefit or another and E and Vince were dressed up like models from GQ, where Vince was standing behind E and leaned his head down to whisper something in E’s ear just as Sloan turned around and she thought that Vince was going to kiss E’s neck or trace the shell of E’s ear with his tongue. He didn’t, of course, but still, she kisses E’s neck just where Vince’s mouth would have been, traces the shell of his ear with her tongue and nips his earlobe on her way down to E’s chest.

She can still hear Vince breathing a little raggedly as she traces the outline of E’s tattoo with her tongue.

The Goodwill comes to the house at eight in the fucking morning on a god damned Saturday and wakes the whole house up. Vince hits the top of the stairs just as Turtle is sending them away, because, “…the fuck do we have that we want to give to the Goodwill?”

Vince holds his tongue and watches as Turtle looks at the guy with Bob embroidered on his shirt pocket like he’s crazy and says, “Yeah, right. You’re gonna take Vincent Chase’s old clothes to the motherfucking Goodwill and sell them to the homeless for three bucks? We grew up in hand-me-downs that started three kids up and came from the Goodwill. You think we’re here to support your eBay habit, you shameless fucker? Get the fuck out of here and don’t come back until you’ve got a better scam, douche-bag.”

He’s got a point. The Goodwill would probably be able to get a lot of money off the boxes of his clothes hiding somewhere in the house, and they’d probably be happy to have it. He should remember to tell E to tell Marv to write them a check. He’d give them his clothes, but he can’t find them.

Turtle’s about to slam the door in Bob’s face when E walks down the stairs in pajama pants and nothing else, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He has hickeys everywhere. E says, “What’s all the commotion about?”

“Jesus, E, did you stop feeding Sloan or something?”

When E says, “Huh?” Turtle looks pointedly at the bite marks on E’s chest and then averts his eyes like a blushing little pussy. Vince can’t take his eyes off them.

“Oh, like you’ve never seen a love-bite before, you fucking virgin,” E says, flips Turtle the bird and turns to Vince, who can’t seem to stop snickering. “Laugh it up, man-whore. We’ve all seen you covered in worse. Remember Gina Horowitz sophomore year?”

“Good times,” Vince says, thinking fondly of Gina The Hoover Horowitz. Girl had a mouth on her. He likes that in a woman.

“Yeah, but I ain’t seen nobody with that many love-bites since graduation, man.”

“Shut the fuck up, Turtle, and stop discussing my sex life in front of,” E squints at Goodwill Bob’s shirt, “-Bob here. I’m sure he’s got better things to do than listen to how pathetic your sex life has been up to now.”

“I don’t mind,” Bob says, a laughing lilt to his voice. “Most entertaining pickup I’ve had since Lindsey Lohan decided she hated all her clothes. Including the ones she was wearing.”

“Oh. You must be the guy from the Goodwill,” E says like it all makes perfect sense and just ushers the guy inside.

“You know about this, E?” Vince asks, a little dubiously.

“Yeah, I called them last night,” E calls over his shoulder, already halfway up the stairs with Goodwill Bob, leaving Vince and Turtle staring at him from the landing. “Bed’s this way. I’ll help you bring it down. I wasn’t expecting you so soon, or I would have had it down in the garage for you.”

Vince doesn’t hear what if anything Goodwill Bob has to say to that. He turns to Turtle and says, “What just happened here?”

“I don’t know, Vin, but it sounded like E’s giving your bed to charity.”

That snaps Vince out of whatever the fuck it was keeping him by the door. He jogs up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom door where E’s just poked his head inside. E’s saying, “Just give her a few minutes to strip the sheets,” and Goodwill Bob is nodding and saying, “No problem,” and looking at the ceiling when Vince grabs E by the shoulder and says, “Can I talk to you. In private?”

“Sure,” E says and looks questioningly at Vince, already walking them down the hall to the kitchen. “What’s up?”

“You aren’t fucking donating my bed to the goddamn Goodwill.”

“You mean my bed, don’t you, Vince? Or was the bed like the Maserati, where you say it’s a gift, but you really mean you’re just letting me use it until I get comfortable and reserve the right to take it back and give it to someone you’ve just met who you don’t even want to fuck?”

“Are you still bitching about that? I said I was sorry. I bought you a fucking Aston Martin! And yeah, I mean my bed. I spent $6000 flying that beast in from France or wherever.”

“You know what, you can have it back, because if you think I want to take my future wife to bed on the same mattress you’ve banged half of L.A. and all Sloan's friends on, you are a bigger narcissist than I gave you credit for.”

Half an hour later E’s got a shirt on, the mattress is in the truck and Vince still can’t believe it’s going to the Goodwill. All he can do is laugh. He’s not sure if he’s laughing at himself or Goodwill Bob, who is flipping him the bird in the rear-view mirror, or just trying not to fucking puke again. He yells, “Don’t forget to mention the wax stain! Oh, and the little hole in the padding! Stilettos and pillow-tops don’t mix. Buyers need to know these things!”

An hour later a California King Tempur-Pedic NASA motherfucking approved memory foam mattress that they hock on TV at 2:00 AM right after reruns of I Love Lucy arrives rolled up like a giant jelly roll from Lulu’s Italian Bakery on Union back in Queens. An hour after that Vince pokes his head in to see how the jelly roll is faring and sees a little more than he wants to see. He grabs Turtle and they roll out to do some damage with Vince’s Barney’s card, because if his bed’s getting replaced, his clothes are, too. When he finds the old shit, he’ll let Bob and the Goodwill auction it off to the highest bidder.

Sloan calls Tori from a pallet by the pool while E and the guy from the Goodwill wrestle with the mattress. She can see the whole thing through the glass wall. E is almost unbearably cute trying to manage everything and carry around half of that behemoth in his pajamas pants and a shirt so tight on him, it has to be hers. Yeah, it’s the shirt she bought at the gift shop in Napa when she decided against going to bed in the black lace negligee she had packed to sleep in before E used her as an excuse with Vince. She’s only worn it once, that first night, before she let him sweet talk her back into something less comfortable and infinitely more suited to a romantic weekend getaway.

“God, Tori, he’s so cute,” Sloan says to her tiny, silver phone.

“You are so easy,” Tori laughs. “The man donates used furniture to the Goodwill and buys you gifts from an infomercial while by all rights he should be passing out in a haze of afterglow and you melt like a double-dip cone on a sunny day in hell.”

“You should have seen him last night, calling people and getting things done. The second I mentioned that we had just fucked on movie star Vincent Chase’s industrial strength bed and site of his many conquests, he started making calls. Why is that so hot?”

“Because E being all business-like and managing things reminds you of sitting in your father’s office in pigtails with a coloring book and a teddy bear while he bought and sold careers based on your whims.”

“Ew. You make it sound so dirty.”

“Face it, Sloan, you are a classic Daddy’s girl. It’s disgusting, but I respect that. You can’t help who you are.”

“You are still going to be my Maid of Honor, right? I know you think Eric is a jerk, but I need you.”

“Does that mean I get dibs on the Best Man?”

“Only if after all these years, E decides Drama is actually his best friend. I just need one friend who hasn’t fucked Vince, and at this point, you are my only hope.”

“E really is much cuter.”

“Oh, shut up.” Sloan giggles and watches the flex of E’s muscles through tight cotton. “You are terrible. But so right. Did I mention he’s been working out?”

“They’re killing our vision, Vinnie,” Billy says, hollowly. It isn’t like him to be so completely flat, particularly not when he’s worked up enough to call Vince at an hour when other human beings are awake. It’s only four in the afternoon, which is like first thing in the morning for Billy.

“Our vision got booed, Billy,” Vince says. He’s tired; they’ve had this discussion before, plenty of times. Medellín's not coming out until after Silo, because Harvey said so, said to prime the soccer mommies with a popcorn flick when their kids are out of school and hold Medellín until the holidays when they're already depressed, and E and Ari both think Harvey strung the moon. It's a little disgusting, really. But ... “Even you know we had to do something. We’ve had this discussion before.”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“What’s going on?” Vince asks, because there has to be something, besides the obvious. Billy was still full of himself, even after Cannes, after being booed off the fucking stage by the biggest loudmouth critics in the fucking world, being forced to sell the movie they all staked their careers on for less than the price of a matinée ticket and being fired by a guy who couldn’t even be bothered to learn his name. And E, too, which really is so much worse than that fat fuck Harvey who E worships more than he's ever appreciated Ari, and that just pisses Vince off; guy gets a fucking mentor and forgets about who got him there. Billy doesn't give a fuck what Harvey thinks and that makes Vince perversely happy. Billy never made movies for anyone but himself, anyway, never cared what anyone thought, except maybe his mother or Vince. And E, though Billy would cut out his own tongue before he’d ever admit that.

“Suit sent over the cuts he and the crazy Jew fired me to make.” For some reason, Billy was pathological about calling people the thing that would be most offensive, and while personally Vince didn’t think it was a bad description of Harvey, it certainly wasn’t one he ever wanted Harvey to hear. Or E, because he'd probably strangle Billy with his bare hands. Harvey'd get him a lawyer, though, and then E would think the sun shone even more out Harvey's butt than he already does. Fuck. Wait. The movie's done?

“Yeah?” Vince asks, because he hasn’t seen it. Last E said, he and Harvey were still tinkering with it and he didn’t want to show Vince until it was a done deal. But E might show Billy, because no matter what E says, he does respect Billy’s input; he just doesn’t want the guy to have final cut. Or the ability to come within 25 yards of him, but restraining orders are a public record and it doesn't look so hot to the rest of the industry when a producer takes one out on their director.

“I showed them to my mother,” Billy says, and of course he did. The guy just does not have an ounce of self-preservation in his body. The woman hates everything Billy ever made.

“Hey, man, don’t take it so hard. You know she hates everything.”

“She loved it.”

“Oh,” is the only thing Vince can think to say. Fuck. “You want me to come over?” Watch it with you, he doesn’t offer, if only because he knows it will break Billy just that little bit more if Vince loves it, too, and Vince doesn’t want to see it if it’s still as big a disappointment as it was in Cannes.

“Suit hasn’t let you see it, has he?” Billy asks. “Fucking pussy doesn’t want you to see what he’s done to it until it’s too late to stop it.”

“I trust him,” Vince says, and means it. He should have trusted E the first time when he told Vince it sucked, or the second time when he sold it to Harvey for $24,999,999 more than Vince and his stupid fucking insistence on rolling the dice with their futures managed. Who he doesn’t trust right now is himself. “Listen, Billy, I’ve gotta go. Call me when you’ve got your editing done for Silo and I’ll pass it on to E, okay?”

The temptation to have a nap the second she is done making the bed is fierce, not because she was tired (which she was), just for the joy of having her own bed again. Sure, she could have had E round up Johnny and Turtle and move over her old bed. She does have a perfectly good bed, along with the other picked-over remnants of her stuff sitting in her old apartment. She hasn’t decided what to do with it all, including the apartment, which she owns. She could rent out the apartment, or she could just leave all her stuff there until it’s time to sell. Not anything she’s really given a lot of thought to yet. The point being, she has her own apartment and her own bed and her own stuff, but she wanted to have something that wasn’t just hers, wasn’t E’s, and more importantly wasn’t fucking Vince’s. She wanted something to be theirs and the bed seemed a good place to start. So she doesn’t take a nap on the new bed, because E’s not there, he’s working (shopping with the boys, but still, working, and she respects that.)

Early Saturday night, much earlier than she’s gone to bed since she was 9 years old and having nightmares from watching Platoon, Sloan climbs into their new bed, their very first joint purchase (Ladies and Gentlemen, Vincent Chase has left the building!), and uses E’s chest as a pillow. He wraps his arm around her, kisses her forehead, falls asleep and starts breathing so deep it’s almost, but not quite, snoring in two seconds flat. She smiles, inhales the scent of floral shampoo and sweat and the bright red lilies that arrived on her bedside table right after the new bed arrived. She drifts off trying to decide if she’d rather have a traditional calligraphy on high bond paper or something more sleek and modern like the high concept Art Nouveau pop-up book invitations Mandy had at her wedding last year.

At three o’clock in the morning, she opens her eyes and sees Vince standing on E’s side of the bed in boxer shorts and nothing else, looking at E. She groans, covers her eyes, and counts to ten. He is still there when she opens them again, but now she can see he’s holding a phone and looks a little pale. He whispers, “E, wake up,” and shakes E’s shoulder.

She looks at Vince again, and while he’s still practically naked, he’s looking a little … serious, in addition to the lost way he looked at first. She says, “Baby,” in a normal voice, her head on his shoulder, near his ear, and runs her hand across his chest. “Wake, up. Vince needs you.”

Billy’s house is all the way across town, so they have some time. For what, Vince doesn’t know, but there’s time. Plenty of time. Yep.

“So. Baby, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up. I distinctly heard Mandy call you Love Muffin right before I tried to bash my head against the wall repeatedly.”

“That was a joke!” And it was funny. Vince can actually think about it and not feel like there is a big, gaping hole in his chest. Huh.

“Whatever, Love Muffin,” E snorts. Then, like it’s no big deal, like he’s just curious, he throws out, “Did you send Sloan flowers?”

Yes. Blood red Original Love Lilies, because sometimes he can’t help his dramatic streak. “Why would I send your fiancée flowers?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

“I probably signed up for one of those services when Lloyd’s Gay Mafia special ops team blew through the house. I wasn’t really paying attention. We can check with Turtle when we get back if you don’t want them. He always handles that shit.”

Instead of beating the topic to death like Vince expects, E says, “So explain to me why we’re driving to the fucking Valley in the middle of the night, again.”

“All I know is what Kat told me, and you know what it’s like talking to her.”

“Yeah, she makes me want to swap out Turtle’s weed for oregano every couple weeks just to make sure he doesn’t fry his last remaining brain cell.” Vince has had the same thought, actually, but he’s pretty sure the level of burnout Billy’s girl has isn’t just from a little pot. E says, “What exactly did she say to make you drag me out of bed at three in the morning?”

“She said Billy was having a meltdown and that it would probably be good for me to get you to come down there before the cops get there.”

“Fuck. Just what we need right now. We can’t afford to replace him if he gets carted off to jail, Vince. Silo has to be ready for summer if you ever want to work in this town again. We need this to be a win.”

“Fortunately not even the tabloids give a shit about Billy right now,” Or him, but Vince is actually a little relieved by that. “Not until Medellín gets released in a hundred theaters and we get a dozen or so good reviews.”

“Yeah. Let’s hope it’s just public indecency again.”

It’s not.

Even before they walk in the door, they can hear Billy keening. Vince had heard him in the background when Kat called; it was the reason he'd dragged E out of bed. Billy's voice is rough and shredded, but it's nothing to the rest of him.

The first thing Vince notices is the blood. Billy is covered in it, rocking back and forth and wailing, holding … oh fuck, his mother. Billy is covered in blood and clinging to what takes a minute for Vince to process as Billy's mother's dead fucking body. That's when the smell hits him. Vince is too busy being stunned and puking to say anything. E says, "Jesus. Kat, what the fuck happened?"

Billy's girlfriend looks baked as ever, just as untouched by the world around her as always. Vince gawks at her when she says, "I shot the bitch," like that explains everything.

Maybe it does. Vince drags his sleeve across his mouth to wipe off the rest of the puke. E says, a little uncertainly, like he can't believe the words coming out of his mouth, "You shot Billy's mother?"

"She wouldn't shut up. She made him cry," Kat says, as if that's a perfectly legitimate reason for shooting someone. Like just fucking killing someone was on par with slapping them or something. Vince feels a little like he's in a Tarantino film, and Billy still hasn't stopped making that noise.

"Have you called the police, yet, Kat?" E asks, already pulling out his cell.

"I called you," she says, like it's at all the same thing.

"Well, fuck. Do you have a lawyer? I mean, I know your parents have money, they have to have a lawyer, right?"

Kat just shrugs. E has his phone pressed against his head, taking care of things, but meanwhile Billy is still making a godawful noise and Vince is still frozen to the spot. Vince doesn't hear what E is saying to his phone, who he's talking to—it's got to be Ari—but he does hear E snap, "Don't fucking touch anything," at him when he puts his hand out to brace himself on the door frame. "We do not need your prints at a crime scene." Vince thinks it's a little late, since his vomit is all over the floor at the crime scene, but he doesn't say anything until E says, "In fact, fuck, go sit in the fucking car. I'll deal with this."

"I'm not a naughty child or a dog, E, so you can go fuck yourself if you think I'm leaving you in here to deal with this while I wait in the god damned car."

E doesn't say anything about Vince's track record with women or how any man who sleeps with that many bitches is a dog by definition, the way he would have if this were in any way a normal fucking situation, just flips Vince off as he growls into the phone and walks into the other room. The sound Billy is making probably makes it hard to hear the phone, Vince gets it, but he would rather listen to Johnny's collection of white 80's rappers than another second of Billy. He thinks somebody should call a damn ambulance, but then, even if they could have done something for Billy's mom, it's been at least an hour since they got the call from Kat and there's no way the lump of skin and hair and blood Billy's clutching to his chest is anything but dead. Jesus. He'd puke again, but there doesn't seem to be anything else in his stomach.

"You need to breathe, man," Kat says, holding a bong and a lighter toward him, smoke seeping out the corners of her mouth.

Vince wants to take it, but he's seen enough CSI reruns, high in the middle of the night with Turtle, to know that his DNA on a bong at a clearly drug related fucking murder scene is not going to get him anyplace he likes. He's had more than passing thoughts about getting fucked by a dude before, and what little dick-sucking he's done hasn't been half-bad, but in no way does that constitute wanting to be somebody's bitch in prison. Vince shudders and shakes his head. Kat just shrugs and takes another hit.

The cops arrive roughly two minutes after Ari, Ari's lawyer, Ari's lawyer's lawyer, Shauna and more little blond PR chicks than Vince has ever seen her roll with descend on the house. They're probably fucking up all the evidence, but that boat sailed the minute Vince and E walked in the room, so whatever. Not like it's a fucking mystery whodunit.

Ari says, "Tell me Turtle's out of the country on a fact finding mission and you aren't fucking high right now, Vinnie."

He's not, so he says, "I'm not. I fucking wish I was, and I'm going to be the second I get home, but right now, no, I'm not."

"Good man. The nice detective is going to ask you a couple questions and then we're packing you in a fucking car and getting you the fuck out of here."

The nice detective is an asshole, but it only takes a few minutes with a couple lawyers standing behind him before he's shuffled off to a car and staring out the window. He's trying to figure out what's missing when he realizes that a) he can't hear Billy screaming anymore, and b) E is not in the fucking car. The driver doesn't even look at him when he bangs on the glass partition and demands to be taken back, that they forgot E, they have to go back.

E calls Sloan around five in the morning. She's awake, and has been, so she isn't even bleary-eyed when she answers the phone, "Hey."

"Hey, baby," E says, exhaustion rough in his voice. "Did I wake you?"

"No. Vince crashed the Escalade into the garage door about half an hour ago." And wasn't that a pleasant way to start her day. Her ears are still ringing from the horn that would not fucking stop until she hit that little On-Star button on the dash and had them turn it off remotely.

"Shit. Is he okay?"

"He's got a couple cuts on his face and he threw up, but he's okay. He wouldn't let me call a doctor, so I cleaned him up and gave him a Valium. He's sleeping now."

"Why the fuck was he driving?"

"He was trying to get back to you."

"Oh. He was freaking out from the blood. I sent him home. I didn't even think."

"He was pretty upset. He couldn't find Turtle to drive him, so he just took matters into his own hands."

"I sent Turtle to go get his guy. The pot doctor."

"Okay," she says. She's had about enough of the mysterious act for one night. "What the hell is going on? Where did you guys go? What blood? Why is Vince freaking the fuck out?"

E is silent for a moment, then exhales heavily. "You know Billy Walsh, right?"

"The crazy director you guys keep hiring?"

"That's the one. His girlfriend just up and shot his mother like six times tonight."

"Fuck."

"Yeah. Me and Vince got there before the police. It was like a slasher movie, only real. Billy was fucking covered in blood."

"Vince was fine until he saw the blood on his forehead when I was cleaning him up, but then he just turned white and lost it."

"Vince doesn't do so hot with blood. He threw up at Billy's house, too. I thought he might pass out like when we were kids. I got him out of there as quick as I could, but fuck."

"He's okay, E," she says, because one hysterical person per night is her limit, and she can hear the edge of it in E's voice. "I swear. I took care of him. He's okay."

"Shit. I love you. Thank you."

"I love you, too. When will you be home? I think it would be good if you were here when Vince wakes up." And I need to see you, too. Make sure you're okay, she doesn't say.

"It's going to be a while. I'll call Johnny. He can handle Vince for a while. Meanwhile, when Turtle gets there with the pot doctor, have him check Vince out, okay?"

"No problem."

"I've got to go. You would not believe the amount of paperwork the lawyers and the police can churn out. They're still questioning Billy, but it shouldn't be too much longer. The guy films everything in his house 24/7 like he's on a reality show or something, so they have the whole thing on tape. He's a freak, but least he's not a suspect."

"Okay. Call me when you're on your way." She's not sure if he'll remember, what with everything that's going on, so she adds, "Vince will want to know."

Johnny's there when Vince wakes up. It's not who he wants, but immediately Vince feels guilty for thinking it. Johnny always looked out for him when he was a kid. With five brothers and sisters, it would have been easy to get lost in the crowd if it wasn't for Johnny taking an interest in him. Would have been easy to catch a beating from their pops, too, before Ma kicked the bum out on his ass, but Johnny always took care of that too, and for that, Vince will always owe him.

"Nice bear you got there, baby brother," Johnny says, eyebrow raised speculatively at Vince.

"Huh?" Vince looks down and sees the purple lump he's been clutching in his sleep. "Oh. Huh."

"Something you wanna tell me, bro?"

"Sloan," Vince says. She tucked him in last night. He was pretty out of it and he couldn't remember where his slippers were, but he remembers that Sloan had to crawl under the bed to fish them out. (God, he's a prima donna sometimes. It embarrasses him when he does it in front of people who aren't paid to put up with him.) She must have found the bear there.

"Sloan gave you a teddy bear? Don't get me wrong here, but is something going on with you two?" Johnny crosses his heart with his finger, just like when they were kids, and says, "I swear to god I won't tell E."

"No, Johnny," Vince says with a little laugh. Until last night, Vince was pretty sure Sloan had finally gotten on the bandwagon and hated his guts, like every other girl E ever dated. "Turtle got me the bear as a joke when he was banging the girl at the Toys 'R Us," forever ago, when Vince thought it was going to be funny to wake up with E, cuddling him, "or some shit. Sloan just found it last night. She must have tucked it in with me. Probably thought it was a touching memento of my childhood or whatever."

"Sloan tucked you in?" Johnny asks with that same speculative tone. "You sure nothing's going on? You can tell me."

"Swear to god, Johnny, nothing is going on." He may be all fucked up, but he's not that fucked up, not yet. At least, Vince doesn't think the bizarre mixture of guilt and lust and fucking gut twisting jealousy he feels when he sees her touching E qualifies as something going on, not the way Johnny means. "I was just in a bad way last night and she was the only one here. She said E would never forgive her if she let me kill myself stumbling around here on my own."

"Yeah, E said you weren't doing too good." And that's all E would have needed to say to get Johnny to come down and take care of him. Vince feels like shit again, because, fuck if he doesn't still wish it was E sitting on the end of his bed.

"You talked to E?" When is he coming home? Why isn't he here? Why the fuck did he leave me last night? He wants to ask, but Johnny would give him that look and worry about him even more.

"He called me while I was down at the gym this morning, said to get my ass down here and cook you poached eggs for breakfast. He sounded like he meant business."

Vince smiles goofily to himself for a second. "Better get cookin' then. Wouldn't want to bring the wrath of E down on you."

E shows up at noon looking like shit. Vince doesn't care, he just feels like he can breathe again. Then he sees Billy. Shit. The blood has crusted over on his clothes and he looks fucking vacant.

"Turtle back with the pot doctor, yet?" E asks.

"The two of them are getting baked down by the pool," Johnny says. "They've been out there for like an hour, ever since the doc checked Vince out. You want me to go get him?"

"Nah," E says, but from what Vince can see of Billy, that maybe isn't such a great idea. The guy just trailed in after E like zombie puppy dog and heeled as soon as E stopped. The fact that Billy hasn't said anything yet says everything about him that Vince needs to know to know Billy needs a fucking doctor. "I need to get Billy cleaned up, first."

"You need a hand?" Vince offers, because, shit. Billy doesn't look like he's going to be much help.

"I called Sloan on the way and she's already got the tub filling." Vince doesn't think E notices him flinching, because he just keeps talking. "I think we can handle it. Why don't you two go smoke up with Turtle and the doc?"

"I'm working later today," Johnny says, hint of well earned pride in his voice.

"Thanks for coming, man," E says to Johnny and then he and Billy are gone.

Vince decides he might want some pot after all.

When Sloan spoke to E, there had been no question that Billy was coming home with him. Under other circumstances she might have said, "I thought you hated that guy," but E would do this for any human being he saw hurting like that. It's one of the things she loves about E. Anyone can care about people they don't know, but it takes someone special to care about someone you hate.

Sloan had meant to tell Vince and the boys that E was on the way back, she did, but she got distracted trying to figure out what they were going to do with Billy. She got Consuela to change the sheets in Johnny's room and tried to find something for Billy to wear. E said Billy was going to need a bath, but she'd had no idea.

Billy is covered in rust colored dried blood. It's caked in his hair and his clothes are so stiff with it she's going to have to cut them off. Someone had wiped it off his face and hands, thank god, but still. No way is he going in her tub until at least half of that is off him.

They don't talk while she's flitting around the room, turning on the hot water and steam in the shower and figuring out which towels she's prepared to sacrifice. Fuck it, she'll get more. E helps her cut Billy's t-shirt off, but the scissors aren't strong enough for the jeans. Fortunately, the guy is practically skeletal and E's able to just yank them down and off. E strips down to his boxers and shoves Billy into the shower. She'd let E handle it, but Billy's only cooperating as much as someone who's not responding at all can and the guy is like a foot taller than E. No way can he get enough grunge off Billy for her to be happy putting him in the tub, so she just heads into the shower, too, still in her pajamas.

The shower is big enough for an orgy, so that's no problem, but there's just nothing sexy at all about washing somebody's mother's blood out of their hair.

Once the water stops running pink, they walk him over to the tub and get in with him. No telling what he'd do, or rather what he wouldn't do, to save himself if they left him in there alone. E holds Billy up against his chest to keep him from slipping under the water while Sloan washes Billy's hair for the third time with her Tea Tree Special Shampoo (E's shampoo smelled nice, but it just wasn't enough to cut through the stench). Billy seems to relax some with her hands massaging his scalp.

When they're done, E bundles Billy up in his own bathrobe, ridiculously short on him, but Sloan and E had agreed that Billy would be easier to dress once he'd seen the pot doctor.

In the two and a half months that Billy's been living with them, he's gone from practically catatonic to fully functioning. Well, if you don't count the crippling agoraphobia that keeps him in the house every second of every day, or his admittedly annoying insistence on using Sloan and E's bathroom (which Sloan knows E does, but she's willing to overlook if he keeps actually bathing on a regular basis. The first month was hard on everyone.)

Billy is so functional, in fact, that he's actually been working (in the garage, not at the studio, but it's better than the warehouse E described visiting Billy in during edits for Medellín), but it still comes as a shock to her when he grabs her by her waist as she's walking in the door from the kitchen, swings her around and kisses her on the face as he's yelling, "It's done! I'm done! E, you fucking little Leprechaun, get in here so I can kiss you!"

She's still a little dazed when Billy drops her in Vince's lap on the couch and E walks in, only to receive the same treatment. Vince giggles so hard Sloan can feel it in her bones. She laughs, too. It's adorable to watch E struggle as Billy twirls him and then splutter as Billy kisses him full and wet on the mouth.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Billy! The fuck?" E says, loud but not quite yelling, and wipes Billy's spit off his mouth with his sleeve. Vince is laughing so hard now that his head thunks into Sloan's shoulder and just shakes.

"You, my little lucky charm, get to be the first one to see our boy Vinnie save the farm from nuclear winter! Break out the popcorn and don't be stingy with the butter you tight Irish fuck."

"You finished it?" E says, like it's a complete shock, like he really thought the video editing equipment in the garage was all an elaborate set up for Billy to watch porn and jerk off in private. Which would be fair, since E'd had several screaming fits after catching Billy going at it in the living room and then banished him to the garage. "Silo is really fucking finished?"

"It's due to the studio tomorrow. You think I was going to fuck you with Studio Bitch? Where's the love?"

"The thought had crossed my mind," E admits, not even a little embarrassment or apology coloring his voice. E had, in fact, told the studio to go fuck itself, he wasn't pushing a guy who's mental state was as fragile as Billy's right after his mother was murdered in front of him not three months ago. Sloan had heard him yelling at Dana Gordon over the phone just that morning. Ari and the studio have been bringing the pressure down, she can tell by the way his hands ball into fists every time one of them calls.

"I'm hurt," Billy says, all mock seriousness. And then, not mocking at all, "Look, Suit, I know you and me haven't always been best fucking friends, but you took me in when you didn't have to. You took care of me, so now I take care of you. If that means conforming my art to some studio suit's schedule, well," Billy shrugs. "I got your back, amigo."

E just shakes his head, smiles and hugs Billy the way he hugs people he really loves. It's so sweet, Sloan gets caught up in it and hugs Vince, still sitting on his lap.

"Vinnie, give the man back his girl and make us some popcorn," Billy orders. Vince laughs and shoves Sloan at E before padding into the kitchen.

Sloan kisses E because he's happy and it's a good look on him, and really, she doesn't need a reason to kiss E, even if she doesn't much in front of Billy. E touches her face and kisses her deeper than he's kissed her in days. Stress is a bitch, but Sloan tries not to be. She's comfortable with her position in E's life. She doesn't need to push. She keeps telling herself this and most of the time she believes it. That's still largely when Vince isn't in the room, but Billy has been a good buffer in a lot of ways and she isn't nearly so ... well, threatened. Sloan knows that's what it is. But somehow, Vince is a little less intimidating when Billy is around, or maybe Sloan's just not as worried when Billy's there because Billy's the only person Sloan's ever seen who commands more of E's attention in a room than Vince. Sure, it's not the same kind of attention, but to Sloan's mind, there's no bad there.

Billy's got the movie cued by the time Vince walks back in the room with a huge wooden bucket, burnt popcorn smell wafting after him.

"Sorry, guys," Vince says, passing out beers from the bucket. There are enough green bottles left for them to have a really nice time, and a full bottle of tequila with a shot glass to boot. All they need now are limes and popcorn. "Unless somebody has a stash, I've burned all the popcorn in the house. We'll have to have to make do with cervezas and margarita salt.

In retrospect tequila might have been a bad idea, Vince thinks as he licks salt off E's wrist, bites into the lime between Sloan's teeth and kicks back a shot of Gran Patrón. This cannot possibly end well, but Vince passed caring after his fifth beer an hour into the movie, when it became clear that not only is Silo done, but it's also good. Vince groans, watching avidly as E licks a stripe across Sloan's throat. The little slice of lime E bites next should by all rights be in Vince's mouth, but Sloan hands it to Billy. It twists something in Vince's stomach to watch E press his mouth to Billy's, not as much as it does watching E fucking maul Sloan, but fresher, not something he's used to seeing every fucking day.

They are all drunk. Fucking drunk as hell. Vince kinda wishes that Turtle and Johnny weren't off doing whatever the fuck they do when they're off together these days. (Hanging on the Five Towns set probably, or maybe fucking the P.A.s. Ever since Johnny got famous enough to get him laid, Turtle's been spending all his time there. Turtle's supposed to be Vince's minion, but Johnny gets a kick out of having his own entourage of one so much Vince can't work up as much resentment as he feels entitled to.) Johnny would pull him aside and tell him he was being an asshole and never in his life has Vince contemplated having an orgy when Turtle was in the room.

Fuck.

Billy's kissing E, like, not just for the lime, actually fucking kissing him and Vince may have a fucking stroke. Or, okay, make out with Sloan, which seems to be what he's doing. She's sitting on his lap again, grinding her ass down onto Vince's cock, which is hard and throbbing and trying to get just a little fucking closer to Sloan.

And then all of a sudden, Sloan's gone, Vince is confused and Billy looks ready to hit somebody. The next moment, the tension seems gone, or at least, different, because E is kissing Sloan and maybe not all is right with the world, but at least Vince isn't contemplating fucking E's future wife. Again. Fuck. Sloan is well on her way to getting E's shirt off and Vince really can't see this. He can't move either. Billy, surprisingly, comes to his rescue.

"This ain't a midget porno, Suit," Billy says, kicking E from across the couch with a sock-covered toe. "I can't spank it in here, you can't fuck in here, either."

"Oh, fuck," E says, looking around like he hadn't really realized where he was. Sloan's cheeks blaze where her face is pressed into E's throat. "Sorry, man."

"Whatever, you pale fucker, take it to your room before you blind me or I'm tossing you in the pool to cool off."

As soon as E and Sloan slink off down the hall, Billy turns on Vince and snarls, "What the fuck was that? You fucking E's whore?"

"Jesus, Billy," Vince says.

"I haven't had a fucking friend since I was five, Movie Star," Billy snaps. "But even I know you don't bang your best friend's woman. So as your friend, I'm gonna ask you one more time. Are. You. Fucking. Her."

"Billy, man. No. I am not fucking Sloan. I would never--" Vince stops. Because he would, he totally would, and it wouldn't be the first time. But he won't. He's a better friend than that, damn it. He's been around the block a few times, sure, but he's one of the good guys.

"Swear to me you have never banged that girl."

Vince is a little poleaxed. Because he can't. Well, he could, but it would be a lie and after three movies together, Billy knows what Vince looks like when he's acting. "It wasn't like that. It was her idea. I was just doing E a favor!"

Billy says, "Don't do me or E any more favors, pretty boy," and storms out of the room. Vince hears the door to the basement slam and then he's alone.

Sloan knows better than anyone what a mess Billy's been since his mother died. Sure, E and Vince and even Turtle have been around, doing what they could for the guy, but Sloan is the one who has been there every day dealing with the fallout. E's working more now that he's got two pictures in post, but he still makes time to be home with her. And Vince. A lot of time with Vince, actually, who has been getting a little stir crazy. Even though he's not working right now, she hasn't noticed Vince going out much, probably because Turtle and Johnny are gone a lot and E is tired when he gets home. Vince just isn't a lone wolf type. But with all the time he spends at the house, he spends very little with Billy. And now that Billy's done working on Silo, it's much more apparent that Vince is avoiding him.

It makes Sloan a little sad and a lot vindicated. E's always said what a good friend Vince is, but from what she can see, he's only as good a friend as his attention span. He just happens to have a long one for E and the boys. But much as it's always frustrated E that Vince likes Billy, clearly Billy is not one of the boys. Actually, Vince and Billy are more uneasy now that Silo is over than E and Billy are, and that's irony for you. Guy is a self-centered asshole for years and Vince likes him just fine, but now he's had a major trauma and found his softer side, Vince is through with him. E on the other hand asks Billy to be the official director for the wedding.

Billy's all over planning things now. Which is good, because she's run a lot of charity events in her time, but for some reason the wedding just seems so much harder. She's a little too close to it, Tori says. Sloan can hardly wait for Tori to get into town. Sloan has half a mind to hook her up with Billy because if anyone in the history of the world needed a pity fuck from a hot woman, it's Billy. And Tori's done worse. She might even like him. Something about his fear of leaving the house screams Lost Little Boy in a way that makes Sloan's ovaries hurt.

Right now, Billy's standing at the railing by the pool looking down over the cliff. He looks tense with his shoulders squished up by his ears. His hair is fluttering into his eyes and she thinks about brushing it away the way she did when she'd brought him out here and he was so out of it he couldn't even speak, just followed directions and stared aimlessly out into space. The pot doctor thought that a little sun and company would do him good, so Sloan brought him out by the pool every day and read to him, and then once Billy was feeling a little better, they played cards. The boys played sometimes, too, but mostly they watched movies and smoke doctor-prescribed pot with Billy and tried not to put their feet in their mouths too much. It's been a while since she and Billy read out here, though.

"Hey, Stranger," Sloan says as she slides up next to him on the railing. "Haven't seen you out here in a long time."

"Yeah, well, agoraphobia's a bitch and I'm taking it up the ass like a faggot in prison."

"Okay," she says. Billy's clearly feeling a little better, anyway. He only acts repugnant when he's doing better. "I'll just let you enjoy the day on your own."

Billy grabs her arm and stops her as she turns to head back into the house. "You know I love you, right?"

"Billy–"

"But you love Tiny E, yadda yadda. The fuck do I care, it's not like you'd go for me anyway. The point is, I'm gonna ask you something and I'm gonna sound like a prick, but that's just because I am a prick, not because I don't think you're swell as far a skirts go."

"You're sweet—" she starts, but Billy interrupts her.

"No, I ain't, but E's my friend and I gotta ask. I came to you first out of respect for the time you spent looking out for me after my ma. You banging Vinnie?"

"You are sweet to be worried about E, but I can assure you that I am not banging anybody but E," Sloan says, slowly like she's talking to a slow child and petting Billy's arm to calm him. "We're getting married next month, remember?"

"Stop touching me, you lying slut," Billy says, shoves her hand away and tucks his own under his armpits.

"Vinnie told me everything."

"Fuck you, Billy. Vince is Eric's best friend. He wouldn't lie like that."

"He said that he was doing E a favor. Said it was your idea."

Oh. "He told you about that?" She had almost forgotten. Well, no. Repressed, more like, but still. None of them ever spoke about it. E pretended like it never happened the next day and has pretty much stuck with that story, and it's not like Vince ever talks to her when they are alone. Not that they ever are alone. Vince avoids her more avidly than he avoids Billy these days. And as for Sloan herself, she just makes damn sure she never, ever thinks about it.

"Enough to paint me a Technicolor picture that makes you look like a traitorous cunt, and after I had to put a stop to you dry fucking him on the couch last week, I believe him."

"Jesus," she says, like all the air got suddenly and emphatically shoved from her chest. "You are a prick."

"Never said I wasn't, baby."

"We were drunk. We were all drunk. You were so drunk you were making out with my boyfriend."

"He's your fiancé, woman!" Billy throws his hands in the air and yanks the hair back from his face. It's getting long. "And yeah, alright, that was kinda gay, but I ain't a faggot. I just got a little carried away."

"Well, so did I. So did Vince. So did Eric, or he would have punched you in the face and you know it. Things like that happen, and what happened between Vince and Eric and me happened a long time ago and is frankly non of your business. I don't have to explain our sex life to you."

Billy just says, "Whatever, lady," and makes a lewd gesture on his way back into the house.

Sloan wants to yell, 'If this is what it looks like when you love someone, it's no wonder your girlfriend put your mother out of her misery!' but doesn't. He's a foul, vulgar, pitiful excuse for a man, but his mother's dead and his heart is in the right place.

Vince is just minding his own business, reading one of the dozen scripts Ari sent over after E told him Silo was hot, when Sloan barges into his room already yelling.

"What the hell were you thinking telling Billy we had sex?!" Sloan does a double take when she sees his room. She hasn't been here since she and E moved into the big room, so fine, whatever. "Whoa. Why does your room look exactly the same as it did when E and I lived here?" It sounds slightly more freaked out than hostile, but not by much.

"One, you never lived in this room, princess, you were just sleeping over when this was E's room." He wants to say, 'You didn't move in until I invited you,' but that he knows that would sound a little bit more bitter than he's willing to admit to. However, "It's all my house and that makes it officially none of your business how I choose to decorate. Second of all, I wasn't trying to tell Billy, but after you gave me a lap dance in front of him, and might I add, E, it was a little hard to convince him I've never dipped my wick in your sugar bowl, Cherry. All you need is a pair of patent leather thigh high boots with six inch heels and you are on your way to the big time. I'll have Turtle hook you up."

"You couldn't just say, oh, I don't know, that we were drunk and that it didn't mean anything any more than him trying to lick the taste of limes out of Eric's mouth? You know, the truth?"

"Hey, don't count Billy out. He talks a good game about not being a faggot," Vince can't help but flinch as he says it, but he's relieved enough finally venting some of the crazy that's been rolling around in his head the last few months that he doesn't censor himself, "but he's pretty much all bluster all the time and E kisses so sweet he could make a man think twice. You might have a little competition."

"Do you really want to have a conversation with me about E turning people gay? Because as his fiancée, I don't keep any secrets from Eric. You still got something you want to tell me about my competition?"

He doesn't like what she's implying, but he's a lover not a fighter or some shit, and he usually likes to delegate his confrontations to E. Which isn't really an option here, so he isn't touching that with a stick. "What the fuck do you want me to do about it? Billy practically accused me of being a home-wrecker," which, sure, fine, he may have wrecked the occasional home, but not maliciously, "and a bad friend." Which is such a low fucking blow. Vince is an awesome friend. "He won't even talk to me, now."

"Fix it, Vince," Sloan says, all stern and hard—like Mrs. Murphy always sounded when she was trying to let E know she was serious when they were kids. It's no wonder E loves her.—but then her voice warbles just the tiniest bit, then bites out real fast, "or I swear to god I will make your life a living hell."

'Don't sell yourself short, Angel. You do a pretty good job already.' It's on the tip of his tongue, but that would be a little too harsh, too honest, for both of them, and it isn't like it's really her fault Vince is two seconds from having a nervous breakdown here. Instead he goes for charming, his trusty standby for not-dealing with things. "Uh huh. You know you love me."

"Just ... " Sloan sighs heavily and covers her eyes with the backs of her palms. It's as good as an admission. As much as she wants to, and Vince has no doubt at all that she wants to, she doesn't have it in her to hate him. "Get it done before Billy does something stupid and hurts himself. He's fucked up enough already without worrying about his only fucking friend getting cheated on. He's had enough drama for one year, don't you think?"

"Yeah, you're right," he says, because, yeah, she is right and it's not like Vince didn't already know that before she came in and reminded him. " And ouch. Billy's got friends."

"No, Vince," Sloan says, shaking her head and sounding sad. "He doesn't. He's got you and me and Eric and the only one who hasn't done anything they'll regret yet in this situation is Billy and I'd like to keep it that way."

Vince wonders if that's true, wonders what exactly E regrets and what if anything he's said to Sloan to make her say that, then stops thinking about it, because that way lies madness. Except that he can't stop thinking about it, never could stop thinking about it and spends the whole night having conversations with E in his head that he'll never have the stones to actually have with E in reality.

Sloan does have friends. She has lots of friends, actually, but more specifically she has Tori who is beautiful and brilliant, psychic and standing in Sloan's bedroom.

"Oh my god! You're here!" Sloan squeals like a fourteen year old girl at a Justin Timberlake concert and throws her arms around Tori. "You weren't supposed to get here until next month!"

"I couldn't wait. I found the cutest little boutique in Santa Monica on-line last week and made us an appointment to go pick out your dress! So, get dressed, we need to leave like ten minutes ago. You can tell me everything in the car on the way."

So the plan is this: medical grade marijuana and plenty of it. He also has half a bottle of Patrón left from the other night, but he's not real keen on the reminder factor there, so he figures he'll only break it out in case of emergency. However, Billy is already drunk off his ass at one in the afternoon, so he can save the tequila for another day. Vince thinks it's probably okay to give him the pot because the guy is bouncing off the walls. A little mellow can only be good here.

"Billy, buddy, calm down," Vince says, soothing as he can possibly be, which although not in the grand scheme of things actually terribly soothing, is soothing enough to get Billy to stop pacing and sit down with Vince on the couch. Vince passes Billy the tall, red glass bong and a cheap gas station lighter. "Here. Have a hit."

They both have a hit, and then another, and so on until Vince is the tiniest bit more baked than he usually likes to get and then Vince has one more. Billy's hogging a whole couch and Vince is sprawled diagonally across an armchair he normally can't get comfortable in, but today he feels pretty damn content to let one leg hang off the side and the other tuck up under the cushion. They've been smoking in silence for about an hour by the time Vince finally works himself up to talking.

"We cool, man?" So he doesn't start with the hard part, so sue him. He hasn't gotten to where he is in life by believing in working hard when doesn't have to.

"Not for any definition of the word, manwhore."

"Yeah, about that," Vince says, sighing. "I think you've got the wrong idea."

"Did you or did you not stick your dick in the slippery end of your best friend's girl?"

"Well, yes, I did." Vince makes a face at the characterization, but yeah, he did. "But it's not like it was a dirty secret or cheating or whatever you think it was. E was there. He asked me to!"

"You said it was the skirt's idea."

God, he's going to have to go through the whole thing. Which as it turns out is kind of liberating. He hasn't talked to anyone about it since it happened (because really, who is he gonna talk to? Johnny? Turtle? Ha. He loves those guys, but they have the depth of a kiddie pool when it comes to sex. E's the only one he's ever really talked to about this kind of thing, but apparently they have some kind of unspoken agreement to never speak of this. What's Vince supposed to say, Hey, I have this friend who wants to ... what he doesn't even know, but just no. Not gonna happen). Once he starts talking it's like he can't stop. He tells Billy all about the threesome, with, actually, way more detail than is probably expressly healthy, but Billy isn't complaining.

"And then it was like it never happened!" Vince is filled with pot and righteous indignation, which comes out kind of high and squeaky, but it's just Billy. "Next day over breakfast it's like nothing happened, like his dick was never in my mouth. Whore-y Tori got cuddling and stalking and apologies and inappropriate lust and what am I, chopped liver? The guy falls in love with every broad he ever fucks like his dick has a direct connection with his heart. I was all prepared to diffuse the situation! I had it all planned out. I had teasing ready to go! I had jokes! I even had props!"

"Jesus, Vince, you a fag?"

He means to say, "No!" but instead what comes out is, "Oh, like you never thought about sucking his dick." God, this is why he doesn't usually smoke this much. He's a little worried that in that moment he almost understands perma-baked, gun-happy Kat. He feels a little like he's going to puke, but it passes.

Billy says, "Eh, the midget's got nice eyes, but he kisses like a girl,” and just like that everything is, miraculously, cool again.

"So, tell me everything about tall, dark and broody," Tori prods as Sloan stares at herself wearing white in three mirrors at once. "He the one with the dead mommy?"

"God, Tori, you are so bad. Give me a hand with this," Sloan says, trying to shimmy out of the twenty-five pound wedding dress with no luck. Beading is definitely out, hand threaded or not. "Billy is having a tough time. His girlfriend shot his mother right in front of him."

"Yeah, yeah, you've only been talking about his tragic past and wounded little boy shtick nonstop for months," Tori says, exasperation thick in her voice, as she unzips Sloan. "Tell me something I don't know."

"He's an enormous prick when he's feeling up to it?"

Tori snorts. "Who isn't?"

"Eric?" Sloan steps out of the beaded nightmare and pulls on the next frilly white creation.

"You just keep telling yourself that, sweetie," Tori says, a slight edge in her voice that Sloan recognizes as Tori actually having the decency to bite her tongue, but hating it. "What are you wearing?"

"I have no idea," Sloan sighs. There's something a little ... off about it. "I look like– "

"Little Bow Peep?" Tori laughs, clear and affectionate again, releasing the tension. "It's precious. Your Irishman will love it. Take that hideous thing off right this minute and tell me about Billy fucking Walsh before I decide not to stop you from buying something equally froofy."

"Fuck you, Tor," Sloan says, but she can't help smiling. "Give me the silver one."

"I don't know, Sloan," Tori says teasingly, slinky sliver silk number already in her hands. "You think you can handle it?"

It looked like disaster on the rack, flat and shapeless, square and not even quite white, but Tori insisted it would look better on. Which, huh, it does.

Tori wolf-whistles at her. "I told you that dress would look hot on you."

"I don't know," Sloan says, swishing her hips a little to watch the skirt swirl around her in the mirrors. The silver-white silk shimmers over the curve of her belly and the swell of her hips like she's been belly dancing for years instead of turning herself into a stick figure with step aerobics and boot camp. "You don't think it's a little ..."

"Sexy?"

"Slutty?" It's backless, but for the white gold chain across the bra line. She won't be able to wear panties in it, let alone a bra, which means she has about a hundred hours in Pilates ahead of her.

"It's perfect. Now, quit leering at yourself in the mirror and dish about Billy before he offs himself and I miss my chance to fuck a real, live tortured artist. There have been too many sensible businessmen in my life so far."

At first Vince thinks nothing of it. He's had this dream a hundred times, what's once more, right? A drop in the bucket. He barely feels the flutter of shame anymore.

Vince is lying in bed, covers pulled up around his head. Light from the hallway haloed around E's silhouette blinds Vince for a second before E shuts the door behind him. Vince's pulse speeds up; he knows what comes next. E walks over to the bed, but something's different this time: Eric isn't seventeen anymore and this time he's brought his own pillow and blanket. Doesn't matter, though; E's still smells like his botanical shampoo, still has the same effect on Vince as ever. E says, "Budge over, bed hog."

All Vince can do is smile like an idiot and make room. He's still smiling when E says, "I hate my life," to the ceiling.

E's been stressed lately; it's only natural that his fantasy could go both ways. It's not like Vince doesn't want to wrap his arms around E and make everything that makes E look so tired disappear when he's awake. Of course he wants it in his dreams as well. What with work and the wedding and dealing with Billy, E hasn't had a whole lot of energy left for anything else. But right here, right now, Vince can make those lines go away, make the rest of the world fall away. Vince shushes him, pulls the blankets up around them, presses a hand to the back of E's head and pulls them together until their foreheads touch, until they're breathing the same hot, warm air.

The look on E's face almost makes Vince hesitate, all tight and confused, a little wild around the eyes, but it's Vince's fantasy, so E trusts him, doesn't pull away. And then all of a sudden air whooshes out of E's mouth in a sigh and the tension drains away like someone pulled the plug. Vince rubs his thumb across E's cheekbone and says, "It'll all be fine, I promise."

E nods, just a small twitch really, since their heads are still smushed together, but it gets the message across. Vince's dick is so hard it's throbbing, but in this, the dream is the same as ever. It's about comfort, not sex, and sure, when Vince wakes up he'll spank it like it's a bad, bad boy, but for now, all he wants to do is fall asleep all tangled up with E. So he does. He lies perfectly still, just focuses on keeping his breathing even and slow and watches E's eyes (which, this close up, have merged into one eye, like E is the cyclops who knows the day of his own death from the script Vince read before bed) drift shut and falls asleep.

He wakes up deliciously warm and surrounded by the scent of E. He's going to have to get Turtle to call Shampoo Girl and hook him up with more of E's shampoo; Vince used the last of it in the shower last night before he went to bed. The dream left him so turned on his dick is screaming. He needs to come, but he's so warm and his body feels too heavy to move much right now, so he skims his right hand down his belly, but touches another hand instead.

The thing that makes Vince scream and clutch the covers around himself like a little bitch? E's still there. Until Vince screamed and scrambled to the top of the bed, yanking the linens with him, E's arm was draped over Vince's side, fingers dangling dangerously close to the waistband of Vince's shorts. E rolls over suddenly, startled by Vince's admittedly bizarre behavior. If the tone in E's voice when he says, "The fuck is wrong with you, man," is anything to go by, he's also a little grumpy this morning. "Jesus, you're skinny. Your elbow is like an ice pick. You eat anything recently?"

Vince realizes that holding a blue striped sheet up to his chest like he has some kind of maidenly virtue to protect is ridiculous, he does, it's just that E blinking up at him sleepily does nothing in the way of getting rid of the boner Vince is sporting. "Uh ... E? Why are you in bed with me?"

E scrubs his hands over his face, says, "Tori," like that explains everything.

"Tori," Vince repeats stupidly. It's not like he can be expected to be quick on the uptake when he woke up with E plastered against his back, E's hand brushing against Vince's belly with every breath Vince took, E's morning fucking wood pressed against his ass like it belonged there. Vince thinks he's doing pretty well, considering.

"She and Sloan are having some kind of girl bonding slumber party bullshit and I got sent to sleep on the couch."

"Call me crazy, E, but isn't the couch in the living room?"

"That couch is evil, Vince. I tried, but the pretentious five thousand dollar piece of shit is less comfortable than that forty-year-old sleeper sofa in my uncle Marty's basement. You know, the one with the spring that pokes you in the back no matter how you lie on it.”

“God, that thing,” Vince says fondly. He lost his virginity to E's cousin Sheryl on that couch. Come to think of it, he banged E's cousin Debbie on that couch a couple times, too. Good times. Vince loves that couch.

“The point being, I have work to do today. I needed my beauty sleep.”

“So you just, what? Climbed into bed with me?”

“You didn't seem to mind last night,” E says with a teasing leer in his voice.

“I was asleep last night," Vince says, suddenly nauseated.

“What's the big deal? Not like you've had a girl in here in forever. Huh. You spending a lot of quality time in hotels I don't know about?”

Yes. And the backseat of the car, like he's sixteen all over again. Sloan looks at Vince like he's the scum of the Earth when he brings girls home ever since he brought home one of her friends. “House is a little crowed lately, if you know what I mean.”

“Shit. Yeah. We need a bigger house. I walk in on Billy draining the lizard in my bathroom one more time and I can't be held responsible for my actions.”

That makes Vince grin like a lunatic. “Better get to work, then. I'll need a job if we're gonna get a bigger house.”

When Sloan wakes up, she hears the shower running. Tori was her roommate freshman year, pledged Kappa Alpha Theta with her and then roomed together in the Theta house for two years where they shared a bathroom with twenty other girls. It's not like they had any modesty left to speak of after that, so Sloan doesn't think twice before walking into the bathroom. The press of her bladder becomes suddenly less important, though. She stands stalk still and only barely stops herself from screaming in shock.

Billy is in her shower. Fucking Tori. Tori's ass presses against the glass wall, pale gold skin pink where Billy's hands grope her ass, long golden hair hanging loose down her back, limbs wrapped tight around Billy. Billy doesn't look the way she last saw him in the shower, shock and blood washing away in the spray of the water. He looks tall and strong and right at her. Fuck. Still, she can't move.

Sloan watches Billy watching her as he fucks her best friend. They are pretty together. Billy's as tall as Eric is short, and as pale as you can get and not glow, has that same milk skin as Eric without the freckles. Billy's hair is black and clinging to his skin where water runs rivulets down his body, dark on his calves, less so on his thighs, but then, Tori's tan skin next to Billy's stark white is more compelling than she would have thought. Not that she's ever thought about Billy and Tori fucking in full Technicolor detail right in front of her. It's always been E in that fantasy.

Tori's making the same soft little sounds she made when Sloan was the one touching her, when E was the one watching. Sloan's breath catches in her throat. Billy turns his head so his face is buried in Tori's cornsilk hair, grunting in time with his thrusts. Sloan can see the curve of Tori's breast brush against Billy's chest, one dusky pink nipple tightened with arousal. Sloan's never been a voyeur, not really, but the throb between her thighs aches, feels like it's filling her whole body and she has to leave right now. Except she takes one last look at Billy and he's watching her, coming, and looking right at her.

Vince watches E get dressed from the safety of the bed with the blanket pulled over his head. He can see everything through the crack, but hopefully, E can't tell. Vince still can't get over the fact that E spent the whole night in the same bed with him and he didn't even know. He spends about ten seconds trying to figure out how to get Tori to move in, but discards the idea quickly. The last thing he needs is to watch E lust after another hot, classy girl every day. Plus, E'd want Sloan and Tori both and that would probably actually send Vince round the bend.

E's been talking about Tori since they woke up, and Vince has tuned most of it out for the most part, but he catches E saying, "–gotta find a hotel or I will go nuts here."

"What?" Vince yanks down the nest of blankets he's been hiding under and says, "Who's going to a hotel?"

"Tori," E says, impatience coloring his voice. "There's no way she's gonna sleep on that freakishly uncomfortable couch and there's nowhere else to put her in this cracker box house."

"How long is she here?" Vince can't keep the hope from bleeding into his voice, but E clearly misses it. Which is good.

"A week!" E yells. Vince thinks he looks like he wants to hit something. "I can't take a whole week of her. I still look at her and want to fuck her in the coat closet and she still thinks I'm a creepy stalker."

"We have a coat closet?"

"Funny, asshole. You know what I mean. This is a disaster waiting to happen."

"So spend the week with me," Vince says. "You can crash in here, Sloan can bond with her best friend for a week, and so can you."

"Vince–" E's voice sounds like it hurts, like E thinks his absence hurts Vince. Which, while true, isn't E's job. E does his job and right now that means he's at the office sitting at the desk Vince bought him on speaker with Harvey and Ari and whoever the fuck else making sure Vince has a career. He's not paying E to be his friend.

"It'll be like a vacation. I'll even come to the office with you."

"You want to come to the office," E asks, slow and full of skepticism.

"I've been to the office," Vince says a little indignantly. He has. Twice. There's nothing to do there, E has a strict No Pot in the Office policy and he kicked Vince out the second time when he walked in on a 'meeting' Vince was having with the legal secretary from two offices down.

"Uh huh. Hannah doesn't work for Binder and Smith anymore, so if you're looking for a fix, try going to the set with Johnny and Turtle."

"Because Johnny's famous and can get his little brother laid? Thanks."

"That's not what I meant, asshole. What are you going to do in the office?"

"Read scripts?" He doesn't really know, but he does know he needs to get out of the house every bit as much as E does.

E says, "Fine, whatever. Get dressed." And just like that, Vince gets the whole day with E away from the house and Sloan and fucking Billy.

"Awesome." Vince smiles hard and secret while he pulls on an orange and black print t-shirt that smells like it was probably clean a couple days ago.

Sloan spends the day watching Billy watch her while Tori sits practically on top of him like she's his girlfriend; it's a little surreal. They're planning the wedding. Billy's decided he's going to Direct the whole thing, and Tori's going win an Academy Award for Costume Design. Which, basically, means Tori gets to pick the bridesmaid dresses—deep chocolate brown with copper undertones that shimmer cut the same as the dress they bought yesterday—and the tuxes (who knows, Sloan stopped listening halfway through the bridesmaid dresses). Sloan won't have to lift a finger. Billy has a crew and Tori is mobilizing the Thetas. They're covering everything from the Makeup Artists to the Best Boy.

No one asks her what she thinks, but that's actually fine with her. It all sounds lovely, but she can't really think about it right now. She thinks seeing your best friend getting fucked in the shower first thing in the morning by a guy who says he's in love with you is reason enough to be distracted. She's still a little stunned.

Sloan thinks she should be happy. How often do you get a bona fide studio movie Director (films, Billy makes Films, not movies) to film your wedding? A cadre of professionals whose mission is to make you look beautiful and make sure everything runs smoothly is a good thing, right?

Vince does fine in the office all morning. E's busy, but that's okay. Vince reads nearly half of like seven scripts, drinks eight glasses of water and checks the clock roughly nine times an hour. He can see E through the glass partition walls, which is great, because Vince likes to watch E be all successful and business-like. Until Sloan shows up for lunch with E in what is for Sloan a very conservative, professional little dress that ends just above her knees. It looks like a trench coat, buttoned all the way to the top, a thick tie cinching her tiny waist. Vince can't look at her without imagining E pulling the tie loose, unbuttoning her dress and making love to her on the sturdy, mahogany desk Vince bought to cheer E up.

She's probably wearing something black and lacy under there. E loves black, lacy panties. When they were sophomores Eric was on the Student Council and Melinda Corner was Student Body President. She fucked E twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday nights after the meeting, for an entire semester in black, lacy panties. She must have had twelve pairs. E wanted to marry her, even though she bit like she got hot off E looking like a victim of domestic violence and acted like she didn't know him rest of the time. The one time Vince ever really believed E meant it when he said he was done with Vince, E found a pair of Melinda's panties in Vince's bedroom. Vince stopped fucking Eric's girlfriends after that. Right up until E asked him to have sex with him and Sloan.

Sloan is actually making Vince insane. Logically, Vince knows that Sloan would never do that sort of thing in the office in the middle of the day, but from the moment she walked in and kissed E a porn reel has been running in Vince's head and he can't make it stop. He was totally fine before she came in, totally prepared to spend the day companionably with his best friend being bored out of his mind, but happy to be there and now all he can think about is sex. It's her. If she'd never come along, Vince would never have had the kind of thoughts about E that he's having right the fuck now.

Sloan's not really sure why she's here, just that she needed to be with Eric right the fuck now. She made reservations on her way in from the parking lot when she realized that she had no reason she could articulate for being there in the middle of the day. Eric's work is important, not just to him, but to them and their future. Sloan knows that, but surely eating lunch at Koi can't be bad for business. In the middle of all that bustle, they can be alone.

She hadn't realized Vince would be there. She says, "I didn't realize Vince would be here. I only made reservations for two, but I'm sure they'd make space for Vince." She doesn't want Vince to come, but if she has to take Vince to get E, she will.

"Vince," E shouts at the glass wall. "We're going to Koi. You coming?"

To Sloan's delight, Vince says, "Fuck no, I hate that place."

"We could go somewhere else," Eric offers, catering as always to his client. Okay, she knows that's not fair, but they're in Eric's office and Vince is Eric's client. Eric learned from Ari before he ever hooked up with Harvey, so lunch dates are definitely part of his repertoire.

"Nah," Vince says, unaffected as ever and for once Sloan appreciates it. "I'm cool. You kids have fun."

"You sure?" Eric asks, uncertainly, but Sloan thinks hopefully.

Vince's, "Yeah, get out of here," is a little more strained than usual, but for once, Eric doesn't notice.

And just like that, Sloan has Eric's undivided attention for an entire hour. In the car she says, "I love you," and E smiles so bright she feels it everywhere, covers her hand with his and says, "Where should we go for our honeymoon?"

Tori's last night in town, E sets up the home theater system to do a private showing of Medellín for everybody, which irks Vince a little, because he hasn't seen it yet and he may or may not have been entertaining a fantasy that E would want to show Vince the movie in private. Doesn't matter, though, because it's a party and it feels like he hasn't seen Johnny and Turtle in forever.

"Where the fuck have you two been?" Vince says, hugging them like long lost relatives. Which they kinda are, so yeah, hugging is totally called for.

"Working, bro," Johnny says, clapping Vince on the back. "One of the Chase Brothers has to be in the public eye."

"I'm glad it's your turn, Johnny," Vince says, laughing.

"Yeah, Drama, enjoy it while you can," Turtle teases. "Medellín's going to be tight and you'll fall back into the obscurity you were born to live in."

"Your lips to god's ears, Turtle," E says, getting in on the hug-fest. They aren't normally this demonstrative, but for some reason tonight it feels right. "If this beast doesn't gross sixty million, we're all going to be living in obscurity."

"Harvey's releasing it in every theater from here to Podunk, Idaho," Vince says, kneads his fingers in E's tense shoulders. "Relax."

"I'll relax when the numbers come in," E says and Vince knows he means it. E's been working himself ragged to make sure Medellín and Silo both kill.

"Ari!" Vince says, slinging his arm around E to make sure he stays. "It's like old home week. What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Hey, now," Ari says, grabbing Vince for a quick hug, then fucking pouncing on E. "The Leprechaun King here invited me. Tell me it's genius one more time, baby."

"Fucker," E says affectionately. "You can see for yourself tonight, just like everybody else. Hey, Lloyd."

"Hi, Eric," Lloyd says, all shy and smitten. Which is when Vince notices that Lloyd's here. And looking at E like he's the second coming. Jeez. It's embarrassing to watch. E looks good, sure, but not that good. Vince looks again, just to be sure. Okay, blue is definitely E's color, but that's no reason to drool.

Ari says, "Lloyd! Put your tongue back in your mouth and hug the man who's single handedly saved all our careers. Where is Harvey?"

"Ha fucking ha, Ari. Hey, Lloyd," E says and pats Lloyd on the back. Lloyd looks fucking incandescent, but doesn't say anything. "He doesn't like social gatherings unless he's the most important man in the room."

"Fuck that, he would be the most important man in the room tonight. We should all be licking his boots right now. The only reason I have any hope of getting Vinnie a job at all is the buzz Harvey's getting for Medellín as a sleeper hit."

"It will be," E promises. "But tonight, my boy Billy is the most important man in the room."

"Oh, yeah?" Ari says, one eyebrow raise.

"Billy and Vince," E amends, which Vince appreciates, but only because it's the first time E's looked at him since Ari got here. "They made a fucking masterpiece."

Of course Billy walks in the room right on cue, wearing only a pair of boxers and a sweatshirt Mohamed Ali would drown in. "Just needed the deft hand of a couple of idiot suits to dumb it down enough to make it accessible to the common man, right Suit?" Billy scoops E up off the floor and over his shoulder, slaps E's ass and carries E into the living room. Everyone laughs, including E. "Put the fucking film on already!"

Somebody does. The girls are already on the couch, just Sloan and Tori, sitting on E and Billy like there isn't plenty of room, but whatever. The lights go out and the movie goes on and after that everyone is silent.

The party's just getting ready to move to a new venue. A club, probably. Turtle thinks he can get them in someplace hopelessly trendy if Vince and Johnny both go, but the second she sees Billy, Sloan's not in the mood. Billy can't go to the club any more than he can go to end of the driveway to get the paper in the morning. He's still sitting on the couch in the dark. Everyone else moved out to the deck to celebrate an hour ago.

"Billy?" she asks, soft, the way she used to have to talk to him to get him out of wherever he went when he went practically catatonic "You okay?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine. Go party with your fiancé," Billy says dismissively.

"You're sitting alone in the dark. Why don't you come out to the deck with me and you can party, too," Sloan says, trying to pull Billy up off the couch. "Turtle has a special treat for you from the pot doctor."

"Fuck that," Billy says. "I'm fine. Just leave me alone. Go celebrate your man's creative genius with him."

"You know Eric knows it's your genius." Sloan sits next to Billy on the couch so she can look him in the eye. "He tells everyone how brilliant you are."

"And he only had to fire me and completely change every third frame of my masterpiece for it to be true."

"Hey," Sloan say, touching Billy's arm. "You made that movie."

"Film, damnit, and no I didn't. That ain't my film, that's E's movie and it's fucking brilliant. Everyone will love it and when it wins a statue, I'll be the fraudulent mother fucker up on stage accepting it."

"That's not true, Billy. You know it, I know it and E knows it. You're a genius."

"I ain't no fucking genius. I'm just a fucking cog in a machine. I had final cut and I fucked it up. Your man fixed it. My mother fucking loved it."

"Oh, Billy," Sloan says. She grabs Billy's head with both of her hand to make sure he's looking at her. "You can't think about it that way. Your mother loved you and she loved your work and that's all that matters."

"My mother never loved anything I did. I won Sundance at 24 and she said it must be beginner's luck, because it was the most boring thing she'd ever seen. I put my fucking soul into Queens Boulevard and she said the only thing she liked about it was Vincent Chase. I showed her my cut of Medellín, before even Vinnie, and she said it was a piece of shit. I show her E's cut and she thinks it's the best movie she's ever fucking seen. The last thing she said to me was, 'Why don't you make movies like that?'"

There's nothing she can say to that, except, "Your mother was a bitch and she was wrong about you."

Which is when Billy kisses her.

"Fuck," is the only thing Vince can think to say, but he does think well enough to try to block the doorway.

"What the fuck, Vince," Turtle says and pushes through Vince's admittedly somewhat thinner than usual body to get through the door. "Out of the way—fuck."

"Turtle, get E out of here," Vince says low, hoping E doesn't hear.

But of course he does. "Vince, I swear to god if Billy's fucking Tori on the couch again, I will kick his ass later. It's a party. Lighten up."

"What's going on," Tori asks, sneaking up behind E with a margarita in her hand. "You boys having a secret meeting in the hall, or can anybody play?"

"Jesus," E says, practically knocking the glass out of her hand. "Sorry. I thought you were in there."

"Why would I be in there? The party's on the deck. I was just coming to get Sloan."

"Perfect," Turtle says. "We just need Johnny to provide an idiotic, but heartfelt commentary on the situation and life will be perfect."

"Somebody call me?" Johnny says, popping his head into the hall.

"Wait, if Tori's out here," E turns and looks at her, "Did you say you came to get Sloan?"

Tori nods.

"Vince, I love you like a brother," E says, "but I will kick your ass if you don't get out of the door right this fucking second."

Vince sighs, heavy, and shakes his head, but he moves out of the way. Turtle says, "Sorry, man," as E passes them. They all follow him into the dark of the living room, even Ari and Lloyd, the last to join the party.

Kissing Billy isn't anything like kissing Eric. Where Eric is soft and tender, Billy is all desperation and passion. The kiss only lasts a second, but by the time the lights come on Billy's got her on her back and she's struggling to get away.

Eric's shouting, "I will fucking kill you, you psychotic mother-fucker! Get the fuck away from her!" while Turtle and Johnny hold him back, still snarling obscenities.

Nobody's holding Tori back though. She takes three strides across the room and slaps Sloan across the face. It stings so much Sloan turns her face away, but Tori gets in one more good slap before Ari grabs her and says, "Hey, there, Princess, don't damage the goods. If anyone's going to go all Zsa Zsa Gabor on her ass, it's gonna be E."

As soon as Ari lets go of Tori, she turns on Billy, slaps him in the face and walks out of the room. Ari looks back at Billy on his way behind her and says, "Fix this or find yourself another fucking agent, Walsh. We may like the tortured artist vibe at my agency, but we don't like cheaters," but Sloan doubts Billy heard. He's curled in on himself like he can protect himself from the verbal blows E's hurling at him, looks more hurt than if Johnny and Turtle let go and just let E pummel him.

Through all this Sloan's fallen back into the couch. She can feel the tears streaming out down her face, probably has mascara everywhere, and probably snot coming out of her nose. The only one paying her any attention is Vince. He's looking at her like she's an alien, and stupid, and disgusting to boot. She is stupid, though. So stupid. Sloan climbs up off the couch and runs the ten feet to where E's still screaming and kisses his face, wet and tinged with more desperation than Billy had kissed her. She says, "Baby, please–"

Eric looks at her for the first time since he came in the room and Sloan flinches. Before Eric can say anything, Vince puts his hand over Eric's mouth, says, "Now's not the time," and nods Sloan off in the direction of her room. "I'll bring him back when he's rational," Vince says, the first promise he's ever made her she believed.

Sloan goes to her room and cries in the shower until she's too exhausted to stay awake anymore.

Vince and the boys take E out to get drunk. Tori comes along, too, because it's her last night in town and nobody wants to take her to a hotel, least of all E, which makes Vince insane. They go to a bar, not the club Turtle had in mind, because nobody's really in a fun mood anymore. They all just want to get drunk.

There's Jäger Girls at the bar tonight, two stacked redheads with hair down to their asses in tight black t-shirts and tighter black jeans who are bigger stars at a dive like this than Vince could ever hope to be. They're handing out random crap with the Jäger logo on it to anyone doing a shot. Vince has a t-shirt, two leis, a pin that flashes like a hazard light and a full set of shot glasses. E has all that and more. They're going to have to pour E into the car at the end of the night. Tori's got an impressive number of leis, too.

Despite the Jäger Girls, for once Turtle doesn't bitch about being the designated driver. Johnny's not drinking much, either. Ari and Lloyd cut out at the house when it was clear the party was over. Vince wasn't going to drink, because at a time like this, E needs him. Or so Vince thought, but E doesn't seem to have any interest in talking to Vince. In fact the only person E seems to want to talk to is Tori. Which is why Vince started doing shots.

Johnny says, "Maybe you should think about slowing down, Vince. E's way across the room. He'll never know if you don't match him drink for drink."

Vince flips him off and waves over the waitress to bring him another shot.

"Your liver, bro, but I ain't holding your hair back just because you got your feelings hurt E wants to take his troubles out on a bottle and a blonde instead of you."

"True that," Turtle chimes in. "Bad enough we're gonna have to clean up after E's fucked up drinking binge. Hopefully the heartbreak will wear off before Drama's old enough to collect social security to feed our sorry asses."

"Hey, now. I am fully capable of putting food on the table. I'm the lead on a hit show with syndication prospects."

"Yeah, Drama," Turtle says without even looking over at Johnny. "Your residuals are gonna keep us in Ramen noodles and Captain Crunch for years. I'll stop worrying about E losing his mind and leaving us high and dry now."

Vince expects Johnny to be hurt at least a little by that, but he's not. Johnny's not even shrugging it off, just takes it as the affection it is. Having his own career again is good for him. If all Vince had to do to give that to John was tank his own career, he would have done it a long time ago, lifestyle be damned.

"Oh, fuck," Turtle says, knocking Vince out of his sentimental reverie. Thank god, because Vince sees just what's put the fire under Turtle's ass.

Vince gets up to follow Turtle across the bar, but Johnny stops him with a hand on his shoulder. "You are in no condition to go over there right now, Vince. Just stay here. Let Turtle get E, and I'll take care of Tori. Bitch has it coming."

The thing of it is, Johnny's right, but it's not because Vince is drunk. Vince has been a lot drunker than this and done just fine. Watching E make out with Tori against a peeling, fake wood substitute bar like a horny teenager, however, fucks Vince up more than alcohol ever could. No way he can play the supportive friend right now, because no way can he support that. Last year when he was trying to get E to try unemotional sex, this is the exact opposite of what he meant.

By the time Turtle makes it over there, E's got his hand up Tori's skirt and Tori's moaning like a whore. Whatever Turtle's saying isn't working, so Turtle hops the bar and hoses them down with carbonated water from the the soda maker. E looks pissed, like he wants to throw down with Turtle right there, but Tori is red with humiliation.

Despite Johnny's comments, he's a good guy at heart and escorts Tori out to the cab stand like a gentleman. Vince doesn't know if Johnny's sending her back to the house or shipping her off to a hotel, and frankly, Vince doesn't care, so long as she goes there alone and gets on her plane in the morning.

E is another matter entirely. Vince wants to give him the fight he's looking for, but it looks like Turtle talked E down while Tori was distracting Vince.

It's four in the morning when Tori crawls into the king sized Tempur-Pedic bed fully dressed and shakes Sloan awake. Tori says, "Sloan, you awake?"

"Fuck, Tor, can't you wait until morning to beat me up for kissing your boyfriend?"

"No, this can't wait. I'm sorry, but if I don't tell you right now I won't and you'll hate me forever when you find out."

"What did you do?" Sloan asks, suddenly terrified to know. Tori never worries about telling her anything, not even the time she wrecked Sloan's brand new BMW the first week of school.

"I kissed Eric." Tori bites her lip. She looks like she's waiting for Sloan to slap her, but Sloan's too stunned to move. "I didn't mean to, but I was so pissed at you for making out with Billy, who I'm totally over, by the way. I don't care how broody and damaged he is. But E was all cute and destroyed and angry and I couldn't help myself. I am so sorry, Sloan. You have to forgive me. Sloan? Talk to me."

"I ... don't know what you want me to say to that," Sloan says, still stunned stupid and sleep groggy.

"Say that no man will ever come between us and I'm still your best friend?" Tori sounds like she's pleading, but Tori never says she's sorry and she never begs for anything she can't get on her own.

"Of course you are. Of course you are." It says more about Sloan's relationship with Eric than it does about her relationship with Tori. She and Tori have been passing men back and forth between them since the men were more boys than full-fledged men. The only things that make this different being that Tori didn't ask first, and Eric's Sloan's fiancé, not her lame boyfriend de jour, though that seems even shakier now than it did when Eric stormed out with his entire entourage earlier.

"Thank god," Tori says, pulling Sloan into an awkward hug. It's ridiculous, and Tori smells like rocket fuel and Eric, but damn if Sloan's coming out of this without a single relationship in tact. Tori's her best friend, so she gets the benefit of the doubt and more, and just maybe it'll give her enough good karma for Eric to listen to her side of the story.

Or maybe she'll just kick his ass for macking on her best friend and throw her ring at his head.

By the time they make it back to Johnny's place, E is completely out of it. Vince can barely make it up the elevator to the condo before he has to puke (in the kitchen sink, which he knows is disgusting, but is better than the floor). Once he's wiped his face off and rinsed out the sink, he feels much better. Johnny'll probably disinfect the whole kitchen in the morning. In the mean time Johnny's stripped the sheets off his bed and put on what looks like ... "Is that a rubber sheet?"

"Like I'm going to take a chance you fuckers aren't going to blow chunks in my bed. I think not."

There are so many things wrong with that statement, but he'll start with, "Why do you have a rubber sheet?"

"You never know when you're going to need it," Johnny says enigmatically. "Case in point, you drunk fuckers. I leave you on the couch and you'll ruin the leather and the imported Italian marble in the guest bathroom. The state you're in, no way you make it that far when you have to worship the porcelain gods. So, my bed, ten feet away from my en suite on a rubber sheet. Besides, I'm an excellent host. Your back will be all fucked up if both of you try to sleep on the foldout."

"Why would we both sleep on the sofa?" Vince asks, because he's drunk and confused and Johnny's just assuming ... something. Which is wrong.

"Because we love you, Vin, but we ain't holding your hair back and someone has to make sure E doesn't drown on his on vomit," Turtle says from the doorway, E barely standing with his arm slung over Turtle's shoulder. "You get the honors, since the barf on the rubber sheets is just as likely to be yours."

It makes as much sense as anything Johnny and Turtle ever come up with. They leave E and Vince alone in Johnny's room on a rubber sheet. Vince manages to get both their shoes off, and the shirt he was wearing, since it has puke on the sleeve, but that's as far as he gets before he crawls into bed. E keeps rolling onto his back, so Vince spoons up behind him, wraps his arm around E's waist and says, "Go to sleep," even though E's passed the fuck out.

At just about dawn E starts heaving. Vince scrambles to get him to the bathroom in time. E's sweating and shaking, hanging onto the toilet bowl for dear life while Vince hovers pretty uselessly. He knows there's something you're supposed to do with a washcloth, but he can't think what besides clean up. E's talking at the same time Vince is wiping his face off. "Can't do it, man."

"Just get it all up. You'll feel better," Vince says, because that's what Johnny said the first time Vince got drunk and spent the night lying on the cool tile floor of the bathroom, puking his guts out.

"Not that. Can't get married," E says, face down in the toilet. "Can't do it."

"What?" Vince can't think. His head is filled with cotton balls, and really, he probably couldn't handle this conversation stone cold sober.

"Sloan's just like you," E says miserably.

"O-kay," Vince says, fighting a sudden urge to puke again. "That's bad because ..."

"I fucking hate you." E doesn't even look up. Vince's chest clenches like a fucker for what seems like forever until E says, "How could you let me drink so much?"

"It's so not my fault you drank yourself sick, asshole," Vince is so relieved he can barely breathe.

E just flips him off and pukes again. Vince hands him another washcloth.

The longer Eric doesn't come home, the more Sloan doesn't want him to. Two hours after she put Tori on a plane home and she still hasn't heard from him. Until about one she'd been telling herself that if Tori's state of inebriation was anything to go by, Eric was probably passed out at Johnny's and would call when he regained consciousness. At four in the afternoon, that excuse is wearing thin.

She breaks down and calls Eric's cell at quarter to five. She leaves a message. She leaves another at quarter after, and another at half past. By seven, E's voice mail is completely full and Sloan's frantic. And pissed. She calls Vince.

Vince answers the phone, "He's fine, he'll call you later when he's thinking clearer, okay?" and then hangs up before she can say a thing.

The thing is, she didn't do anything wrong. Billy kissed her, and Eric stormed out like a pissy little five-year-old before she had a chance to explain. She'd blame Billy, but Billy's so fucked up he could stab someone to death and not be held responsible by reason of mental defect.

Sloan wants to blame Vince, wants to imagine that Vince is poisoning E's mind against her, calling her a whore and a slut and a liar, but she knows he's not. Eric is bull-headed and jealous and jumps to conclusions all on his own. Eric didn't need Vince's help to get liquored up and get to third base with Sloan's best friend last night and he doesn't need Vince to screen his calls today.

At some point she wanders out into the kitchen to get something to eat. When she turns her head she sees Billy standing there in the front room looking lost. She grabs her granola bar—someone let Johnny stock the kitchen again—and walks out to see what's going on.

"Billy? You okay?" It's been awhile since Billy walked into a room, forgot why he was there and got stuck. Sloan's a little concerned.

Billy doesn't even look at her when he starts talking, mechanically. "Vinnie called me. He told me to get out. I don't know what to do."

"He said what?" Sloan asks, shocked. Vince knows Billy can't leave the house. What the hell was he thinking?

"He said that it'd probably be a good idea if I cleared out for a few days while E cools down." Which makes sense. If you've forgotten the guy has panic attacks that could put him in the hospital. Fucking Vince.

"You don't have to go anywhere, Billy." Because once Vince realizes ...

"Vinnie and E don't want to be my friends anymore. They want me to go away. I don't have anywhere to go. I never had friends before."

"Oh, Billy. I'm your friend. It'll be okay. Eric is just a jealous ass. He'll calm down and you two will be buddies again."

"You promise?" The way Billy looks at her, like whatever she says, he'll believe her, like she can make it all right almost breaks her.

She can't promise that, but she does anyway. "I promise. I promise, E will forgive you and you'll be tighter than ever."

"Okay, okay, I can do it. You'll come with me, right?"

Fuck. No. That won't help anything. But she can't leave him out there all alone and who knows what it would do to him to have Vince and Eric yell at him when they get home. Fuck. "Yes, of course I will. We're friends, right?"

Billy hugs her so hard she can't breathe.

Sloan still can't breathe when they get in the cab. Billy's had like five Atavan and a whole bowl from the pot doctor. How he still manages to be jittery is beyond her. They're both doing just fine until she figures out where Billy's told the driver to take them. She says, "Billy, no," but he's already out the door and up the sidewalk before she can stop him. She throws a couple fifties at the cabbie and follows Billy inside.

The yellow crime scene tape is gone, but it's definitely the house from the papers. Eric had followed the press coverage of the murder like the rest of the world had followed OJ. Some of it was to make sure Shauna was covering their asses with P.R. the way they paid her to, Sloan knows, but she also knows it was because Eric cared. Eric always cares, which is the bitch of being mad at him, because she knows he's not calling her because he cares, not because he doesn't.

The place is clean. Like, beyond maid service clean. More like industrial cleaners clean and there's no way it looked like this when Billy lived here. Eric must have called someone, though it must have been months ago because now that she looks closer, there's a fine sheen of dust everywhere.

Billy's running around like he's on speed, not enough tranquilizers to take down a horse. It's clear Billy recognizes that it's his house, but things must be out of place from the cleaners, because Billy opens every cabinet, drawer and closet, flips every switch and turns every knob in the place before she gets him to sit down for a second.

"Breathe, Billy," she says. He's sitting, but his knees are bouncing up and down like they're on springs. She puts a hand on his thigh to keep him still, just for her own sanity. "We don't have to stay here. We can get a hotel, it's fine. You don't have to prove anything."

"My mother hates this house."

Fuck. Dead mother is so not the direction she wants this conversation to go. "Your mother's gone, baby. It doesn't matter what she thinks."

"Do you love me? My mother–"

"Yes," she cuts him off. Sloan really doesn't know what to do if he starts talking about how his Mommy Dearest didn't love him. Tori majored in Psychology, not her. "I love you. And Vince and Eric love you, too."

Every muscle in Billy's body seems to relax all at once. He sinks down the couch until his head is on her lap and he ass is on the floor. He looks up at her with this crazy look of devotion and says, "I love you."

"I know, Billy," Sloan sighs. "It'll be okay. I promise."

She runs her fingers through Billy's hair and he makes a little murmur of contentment. They sit there like that until it gets dark.

"So what was that about last night?" Vince asks E. They're both still pretty green around the gills, but neither of them has puked in hours and the stabbing migraine went away with the Guinness Turtle made them both pound when they woke up this afternoon and a plate full of Johnny's best scrambled eggs. It takes a lot fucking longer to get over a hangover now than when they were 21.

"You miss the part where I walked in on Sloan writhing around under a guy I hate?"

"Fuck you, you haven't hated Billy in months. It was your idea to move him in."

E snorts. "So that means I gotta let him have a go at my fiancée? I kicked guys' asses I liked for less than that back home. Besides, you know they would have locked him up in some hospital and thrown away the key. Guy wasn't exactly stable before his mom bought it."

Vince really doesn't want to think about it, so he doesn't. "You liked guys' asses back in the day? Where was I?"

"Shut up, asshole. You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know what you mean, but that wasn't what I was talking about."

"Yeah? So, what are we talking about? Tori? Because I know that was sleazy, I don't need your hypocritical ass to tell me that."

"Fuck you. You nail a few girls' best friends when you're sixteen, you get a stigma for life."

"Seriously, what?"

"Last night, you said you couldn't go through with it." That's not the part Vince meant, but now that he's said it, he wants to know. "You mean that?"

"Fuck if I know."

Vince takes a deep breath and barrels on. If he doesn't say this now and E ends up miserable and alone for the rest of his life, Vince couldn't live with himself. "You know it wasn't her fault. Billy thinks he's fucking in love with her. She wouldn't have called you every ten seconds today, pissed off, if she had anything to hide. Besides which, you really think Billy could keep it secret if he and Sloan were having an affair?"

"No, you're right. Billy'd be challenging me to single combat for her hand by this point if there was anything going on outside his fevered fucking dreams."

"Then what gives? You still don't trust her?" And what the fuck does that have to do with me?

"I trusted Kristen ..."

"Hey, no. Kristen was a class-A bitch. We all hated her. Nobody hates Sloan."

"I know you hate Sloan, so you can just give it up right now. I'm a big boy. I can take it."

"I don't," Vince starts, then shrugs. But, it's true. "I don't hate her. I don't want to marry her, but ..."

"You want me to." E looks skeptical, which, yeah, fine. Vince doesn't want E to marry any-fucking-body, but that's not on E.

"I just don't want you to make another decision you're going to regret. I never saw you so pathetic as when you thought Sloan had moved on to someone else." Which nobody liked. E's a bitch when he's unhappy. And also, Vince did hate fucking Anna Ferris. E never rebounds with anybody good.

"I love her. I fucking love her, but that hasn't really worked out for me in the past, you know? I fall in love and give everything I have and it's never enough to make it work. I don't want to give my whole life up again just for everything to stay the same, but I don't want to end up alone again."

"Hey, you're not alone," Vince says. He would never let Eric be alone. "You'll always have me. And the boys."

"Sure," E says, but he sounds more resigned than ever. "Family, right?"

"Always," Vince promises. Always. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah. I know." It's not the way Vince wants him to say it, but it's progress.

"Last night–" Vince can't stop himself, "–you said you couldn't marry Sloan because she was just like me. What did you mean by that, exactly?"

"He means she's a slut, Vin." Of course just when Vince feels most like he's ripping his chest open with a butter knife, Turtle walks into the kitchen and grabs a beer. "You know you're my fucking hero, man, but I wouldn't touch a chick who fucked as much as you with a hazmat suit no matter how hot she was."

"Shut the fuck up, Turtle," E says, smiling a little. "That's my future wife you're talking about. Besides, nobody fucks as much as Vince."

"She's practically a virgin if you go by those standards." Turtle slaps E on the back and grins big time. "Puts it all in perspective, baby. Where would you two be without me?"

E laughs. "You're practically a virgin by any standard, asshole."

It's dark out and Billy's still sleeping with his head on Sloan's lap. The Atavan took him down hard, but nobody gave her any. She's tired. Her eyes burn from crying all afternoon with Billy's head in her lap once she realized he couldn't hear her. She's so fucking tired of this whole fucking day, her whole fucking life. She tried to move several times, but Billy makes this horrible whimpering sound and clings to her legs, so she's been stuck like this for hours. But now she has to pee. Billy's going to have to wake the fuck up, because no matter how much kinky sex she's had lately, golden showers are beyond her.

"Billy, Billy, get up." Sloan tries to shake his shoulders, which does nothing. Her arm's been asleep for hours and it prickles sharp and hard, makes the movement sluggish and jarring. She jiggles his head with her knee, it's asleep, too but she has a little more control, just enough to get him to open his eyes. "Come on. It's time for bed."

"Bed?" Billy asks groggily. The drugs must still be working their magic, because he doesn't sound like a panic attack is imminent, thank god.

"Yes, bed. Let's go." She realizes that she has no idea where anything in this house is. "Show me where your room is."

"Okay." Billy's like an overgrown kid lumbering through the house. He leads her to his room by the hand. The bed's made and the sheets look clean, but even if they didn't she's too exhausted to do anything about it. So she tucks him in fast as she can, kisses his head and waits approximately two seconds after his eyes drift shut before opening the door closest to the bed. It's a closet. The next door is a bathroom. Score.

Once she's peed, she pokes around a little. There's no air conditioning in the house, or at least, it's not turned on. Sloan's sweaty and gross where Billy used her for a pillow and sitting still so long twisted her muscles all to hell. When she finds the steam shower, she falls in love. She peeks out into the bedroom to make sure Billy's still asleep, then strips down and indulges her aching body in a hot shower. Sloan thinks she could spend an eternity in this shower and never get enough, but she's swaying on her feet.

She doesn't even think when she's done, her body's all shower warm, brain muddled and ready for sleep. It utterly fails to occur to her that she's not in her own home, walking out of her own bathroom wrapped in her own towel. But she's not, and it's not Eric waiting in bed for her.

Billy's wide awake and staring at her like she's a side of beef and he's been starving.

She says, "Shit," and "Billy, no," but he's still climbing out of bed, walking to her like he's walking through a time warp. Despite the scene playing out in slow motion, Sloan doesn't move. Her arms and legs feel suddenly heavy, her breathing almost impossible to control. It only takes three strides for Billy to reach her, forever and no time at all. His fingers graze her face, then dip down her throat, then lower, caressing her breast.

Her towel drops to the floor. It jars her, not because it's cold, because it's warm in the house, but because his clothes are rough on her skin. "Fuck. Billy. No." She says it softly, because the room is so fucking quiet, like a tomb, and whispering seems right somehow.

Billy grabs her by her shoulders, hard, says, "No," and kisses her. "You love me. You said you love me. Did you lie to me? Did you lie to me?"

"No, I do," she pleads. He's hurting her. "Of course I do. But not like that, Billy. You're hurting me."

"Yes," he says, kisses her again, and shakes her. "You do. I know you do. You love me. Tell me you love me."

"I do." He looks so desperate, like his world might crumble if she doesn't love him. She can give him this, tonight, here in the house that holds so many memories of women who didn't love him well enough. She can give him this tonight and leave him in the morning, like the others. She hates herself a little, but still she leans into him, presses her face into his chest and says it again. "I love you. I do."

He picks her up and carries her to the bed. She could stop this, she knows she could find the words to stop it, but she doesn't say them, because it would break him, just kisses him deep and whispers, "I'm sorry," again and again into the hair at his temples while she takes his clothes off. When he pushes into her, hot tears slide down the sides of her face, but he kisses the corners of her eyes and licks them away. He says, "I love you, I fucking love you, fuck, fuck," and collapses on top of her. He's asleep when she rolls him away.

She doesn't know what to do. She calls Eric, but he doesn't answer. His voice mail is still full.

She stays awake all night and in the morning she calls a cab to take her home without him. Before she leaves, she kisses his forehead. "I love you, Billy, but you scare the crap out of me. I'll get you some help, I promise, but it can't be me. I can't do this." He doesn't hear her, but she promises anyway.

When they get back to the house, all Vince wants to do is go back to bed, but he can't. The second they walk in the door, Sloan's screaming.

"Where the fuck have you guys been? Jesus Christ, turn your fucking phone on! I've been calling you for hours! We have to go get him."

"Baby, baby, calm down," E says, holding her by the shoulders. She flinches, but Vince isn't sure E noticed, because she's shaking and sobbing into E's chest. Vince only noticed it because he's a few feet away. "What's the matter? Baby, tell me what's wrong."

"Billy," she says all broken and starts crying again. "We have to go get Billy. I left him there all by himself!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you talking about?" Vince asks. Since when does Billy leave the fucking house? "Where's Billy? Where did you leave him?"

"At his house. He's at his fucking house. You told him he had to get out and he wouldn't go anywhere else." Fuck, fuck, fuck, what the fuck was Billy thinking? Vince said lay low, not get the fuck out. He wants to shoot himself in the head, because if this is his fault—but Sloan's still freaking out, and only one of them gets to be hysterical at a time. She's looking up at E like he can grant her absolution. "What was I supposed to do? Everyone was gone. He thought you didn't want to be his friend anymore and I tried to tell him you didn't mean it, but he was so upset."

"So you left him in the house where he saw his mother get shot?" Vince yells, feeling a little hysterical himself. "What were you thinking?"

"He was scaring me. I couldn't stay there by myself. He's like three times my size. What am I supposed to do? I tried to call you from the cab. I been calling you since last night. We have to go get him."

"Did he hurt you?" Eric asks. Vince guesses E did notice Sloan flinch earlier after all. "Did he fucking hurt you, Sloan?"

"No," she says quick, but looks away.

E shoves the little sweater top she's wearing off her shoulders, sucks in a breath and says, "Jesus. I'll kill him."

"No! They're just bruises. He didn't mean it. He was just upset and he grabbed me harder than he meant to, but I'm fine. I'm fine."

"Do you swear to me he didn't hurt you?" E looks serious in a way Vince hasn't seen him since the last time Eric's sister Tina came home beat up when they were kids. Troy Randal looked like shit after Eric broke his arm, but he never came around the Murphy house again. "This is all, just these bruises on your arms?"

"I swear," Sloan says, more believably this time. "But we have to go get him. I left while he was sleeping."

"Which means he woke up alone in that house," Eric says, looking grim. "Fuck. Vince, call Ari. I need those Power of Attorney papers he had drawn up, and tell him to hurry."

In that moment, it doesn't fucking matter that E makes those calls, Vince doesn't even question it. Ari picks up on the second ring. "Eric, you fucking stud, I was just having a dream about you. The buzz on Silo is so good it's dripping in fucking honey. Got me hard just thinking about it."

"Ari," Vince says before Ari can say something else that will scar his brain forever. "Do you always talk dirty to E? You know what, never mind. I don't want to know."

"I do when I'm getting geared up for game day, baby. That really you, Vinnie? I didn't think you knew my number."

"Yeah. Fuck, Ari, E needs you to send over Billy's Power of Attorney papers."

"That self-aggrandizing little fuck has you making his phone calls now? Does he not get how his job works? Put him on the phone."

"Ari, shut up and listen to me. Billy is holed up in the house where his mother got shot. E and I are going over there to get him right now, but we need the Power of Attorney papers. Now get out of bed, get dressed and get Eric what he needs in case something happens and we have to get Billy some professional fucking help."

"Well, fuck. Why didn't you say Walsh has finally gone cuckoo? I'll be there in twenty."

"Meet us at Billy's house?" Vince asks, relieved more than he can say that there's a real fucking adult on the way. Ari's good at fixing shit like this and nobody's arms get broken in the process.

"I am on my way. See you at the loony bin."

Vince snaps his phone shut and looks around. Sloan's still crying, but it's less, and it looks like she's fighting with E. E's saying, "No, no fucking way. No fucking way you go back there right now. Vince will stay here with you and I will call you when it's done."

"Oh, hell no," Vince says. "There is no way I'm letting you go on your own. We do this together or we don't do this fucking at all. We just call the men in little white lab coats and wash our hands of the whole thing, or we go down there together and try to fix this mess."

"Fucking hell, Vince," Eric yells. "I don't want either one of you getting hurt."

"Yeah, well, we can take care of our own delicate mother-fucking petals, but who's going to take care of you, huh? You really think either one of us is going to let you try to take Billy on your own?"

"Fine! Christ. Everybody goes, but you fucking stay back. How long did Ari say he'd be?"

"Twenty minutes, but it'll take at least forty to get all the way across town."

"Good. The people from Shady Pines are on standby. They can be there in ten minutes if we need them, but we've got to get going now."

The whole ride down they're silent, but Sloan wants to scream.

Billy's trashed his house: broken the windows and ripped the sheets and torn the upholstery on the couch where they sat all day. She's afraid of what they'll find when they don't immediately find Billy. There's blood on the bed, but not so much it's hopeless. They split up. Vince finds him first and yells. Billy's sitting in a closet surrounded by video tapes, rocking back and forth, but not saying a word.

Until he sees Sloan, that is, and then he jumps up, starts screaming and waving his bloody hands. "You did this! You traitorous fucking whore, you killed her! You killed her!"

Vince grabs one of Billy's wrists, Sloan presumes to hold him back or calm him down, but Billy's strong. From behind the door, she can see him rip his arm away from Vince and turn on him. Billy grabs Vince by the front of his shirt and shakes him, which is when Sloan sees the glass still biting into Billy's fist, up at Vince's throat. "Let me go, let me fucking go, you hate me! I thought you were my friend, but you hate me."

"I don't hate you, Billy," Vince says, fear and self-recrimination lacing his voice. He looks like he wants to say more, but that's when Eric finds them.

Eric says, "Billy, buddy, what the fuck?" It's not what Sloan would have said, but at this point she thinks that anything other than what she would have said or done has to be an improvement, so she bites her tongue. "What's going on?"

"The whore fucked me and told me she loved me and then she killed my fucking mother, E. She shot my goddamn bitch of a mother right over there, but she must have done something with the body, because I can't find it."

"I know, Billy. It'll be okay. We know where the body is. She's never going to hurt you again."

"You swear. You swear to me? I know you love her. I love her, too, but she did it, she killed my mother, you have to believe me."

"I believe you, Billy. I was here. Remember? Me and Vince and Sloan took care of you, remember? We're your friends."

"You don't hate me?"

"No, but I'd be a whole lot happier right now if you weren't holding that big ass piece of glass at Vince's throat."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Billy says and drops Vince like a rag doll. "What did I do? It's all my fault."

Vince says, "I'm fine, it's fine, it's fine," and pats Billy on the chest.

Eric puts himself between Billy and Vince. Vince gets the out of the closet while Eric lets Billy hug him so tight it looks painful. Eric says, "It's okay, buddy," and pats Billy's back, but Billy's still holding onto Eric and rocking ten minutes later when the Shady Pines people get there, just about exactly the same time Ari shows up with the papers they need to have Billy committed.

Eventually, Sloan tells Tori, because she has to tell someone and also, she tells Tori everything. Her life is strained and weird when she doesn't. Which is fine for a couple weeks, because life is strained and weird, anyway, what with Billy living in an institution and all. Actually, it's a very nice institution, and she tells Tori so.

"It's a nice place. It's called Shady Pines, and I guess a lot of people who don't want anyone to know where they're going go there. Ari picked it out forever ago, and had the commitment papers drawn up right after Billy's mom died, but Eric wouldn't let them put Billy away unless he got violent."

"Jesus, I'm glad I went home when I did," Tori says. "I was half way on my way to being really kind of attached to him. Right up until I realized he's in love with my best friend. That doesn't ever work out for me. Remember Guillermo?"

Sloan laughs. "Yeah, well, I think we better just stick to the plan where I get married and you get every other man on the face of the Earth. Sound fair?"

"Sure, baby doll. I get every other man on the face of the Earth, except of course Vince and Billy and Guillermo and that guy with the tattoos, oh and Seth Green. Can't forget Seth Green."

"Oh shut up. Like you want Seth Green." They both laugh.

"So this place they've got Billy," Tori asks. "They let him have visitors?"

"Yes." This is where it gets a little dicey. "Eric goes to see him every day. I think Vince goes with him every now and again, too."

"And you? How often do you visit?" Tori can always see right to the heart of the matter. It's one of the reasons Sloan loves her.

"I visited one time." Sloan shudders. "They asked me not to come back again until he's feeling better."

"Oh, Sloan," Tori starts.

"No, it's fine. They're right. Tori, it's all my fault."

"I know you think that, but it's not."

"No, really, it is. I had sex with him and then he went crazy."

"Okay. I've been wrong before." Tori sounds a little shocked, which of course is why Sloan said it the way that she did. Someone has to know the truth. "Only, and this may just be me, but wasn't he bug fuck insane before that? I seem to remember something about him having had commitment papers on his ass for like four months already or something like that."

"Tor, I'm serious." Sloan feels like she's the one that's crazy.

"Sloan, I do not for one second believe you just got a wild hair up your ass and decided it'd be fun to fuck your mentally unstable roommate."

"I ... no, it wasn't like that. After Billy kissed me, Vince told him he had to get out of the house for a few days–"

"The fuck did he do that for?"

"Vince has always been a mystery to me, you know that, but I think he just wanted to give Eric some time to cool down. I think he was trying to protect both of them, but Christ did it backfire. The only place that Billy would go was his house, where his mother got shot."

"Fuck," Tori says.

"I know. He was freaking me out. I never saw him so completely out of it. He kept asking me if I loved him and then he kissed me and I told him I loved him, but not like that and he shook me."

"Did he hurt you? I can't believe you didn't tell me this!"

"No, no, just some bruises, but he scared me, Tor. He's never scared me before, but he scared me. He's a lot bigger than he seems."

"Don't I know it."

"Well, I didn't. He kept calling me a liar and shaking me and I just ... I couldn't think of anything else to do. I thought it would calm him down."

"The staggering problems with your logic notwithstanding, did it work?"

"I was so tired, Tor."

"Yes, yes, but did it work?"

"Yeah, it knocked him out. He slept like the dead, but I couldn't sleep. The only thing I could think was that I had to get out of there."

"Which was like the first smart decision you made, you know that, right?"

"That's what fucked him up." Sloan starts to cry. "By the time I got back there with the boys, Billy had completely lost it. He was raving like a lunatic, saying I shot his mother and calling me a whore."

"Sloan, baby, he is a lunatic."

"He held Vince up against a wall with a piece of glass." She knows her voice is escalating to an octave it's not really meant to be at, but she can't stop it. "I was terrified, but Eric talked him down."

"That would have been you if you hadn't gotten out of there, Sloan. You have to think about this logically. The guy was a time bomb waiting to go off. Leaving was the only thing you could do."

Sloan's sobbing too hard to answer, but she nods her head. Not that Tori can see her through the phone, but Sloan's sure she knows. Tori keeps making soothing noises and Sloan keeps crying, right up until Sloan's done crying and hiccups. And then they both laugh. Sloan's still wiping snot and tears off her face when Tori says, "But seriously, fuck him into submission, what were you thinking?"

Sloan just laughs. It's all she can do at this point. "I have no fucking idea, but I blame Melinda."

"I think that's fair. It's always the evil stepmother's fault." Tori giggles, but her next question immediately sobers them both. "You going to tell Eric?"

"No. No. He can't know. Not until Billy's better."

"He'll totally understand, Sloan. You aren't giving him enough credit. He loves you. He might surprise you."

"Oh, sure. Now you like him. But that's not what I mean. He might forgive me, but he'll never forgive Billy if he finds out. The people at Shady Pines say Billy basically lives for Eric's visits. He's two steps above catatonic the rest of the time. If Eric found out–"

"He'd stop visiting Billy." Tori sighs. "I get it. It's going to come back and bite you in the ass, but I get it."

"E, my favorite little rug-muncher, don't even think about fucking the future Mrs. this morning. I want your dick hard all day, baby."

"Ari, you're on speaker phone," Eric says, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"That better be the daughter of my biggest rival in bed with you right now and not my multi-fucking-million dollar star, because I want you hard for the movie, not the prettiest fucking mug in post-apocalyptic action films this summer."

"Hi, Ari," Sloan says. "Still calling for the traditional seven A.M. opening day jerk off session, I see."

"Always, Princess, you wanna give me a tug?"

"I'm so telling your wife you said that," Eric says.

"I'll pass her the phone, but only if you promise not to cum until the east coast numbers are in."

The last time Vince went to Shady Pines was to tell Billy Silo opened. Big time. Soccer mommies weren't the only ones who loved it. People were ready for something edgy and original with big guns and explosions. Billy just sat there and looked at him when Vince told him like some kind of zombie. Vince couldn't go anymore after that. It was all wrong and there was jack fucking shit Vince could do about it. That sort of situation is not really Vince's strong suit.

E says Billy's happy, but he doesn't want to leave. They've lowered his meds and moved him to the part of the hospital that's more like luxury apartments with an on call medical and psychiatric staff, like a half-way house for the rich and famous, both of which, since the success of Silo, Billy now is. E and Turtle brought over all Billy's film editing crap a month ago and Billy hasn't had time for any of them since.

Vince isn't really sure about bringing Billy home with them, but E says Billy's been stoked for the wedding and still wants to film. Five days is his limit to sign out, so they waited to the last minute to come get him. So long as Billy takes his medication, Vince is fine with that, but he's still a little uneasy around the guy when there's no three-hundred pound orderlies around. E said, "Don't be such a pussy, the guy is like a retarded six year old on his meds," when Vince mentioned that.

Vince didn't say that when he and Eric were six they both had some pretty spectacular tantrums when they didn't get what they wanted and Billy's a whole Hell of a lot bigger than they were.

"Hey, Billy," Vince says, hand out to shake. Billy just grabs him by the hand and pulls him in for a tight hug. "Missed you, too, buddy."

Thankfully, Billy lets him go and moves on to E, who he bodily picks up and twirls around. Billy says, "E, you fucker, you're late," and it's almost like it used to be.

Sloan moves over to the Beverly Wilshire the week before the wedding, when her sorority sisters come into town for her bridal shower and all the wedding festivities. She's sharing a room with Tori, but Tori's busy with the Wedding Specialist the hotel provides and wrangling the rest of the Thetas to make all the hand calligraphed place cards and folding origami boxes for the wedding favors. Melinda gets a suite on the floor as well, which is nice, if a little stifling. It's not as if Sloan has any other female relatives, so at some level, she's relieved not to have had to ask. Asking her stepmother for favors is never a good thing.

Melinda says, "Your father has a new chocolate Armani suit. He had me call Tori and find out your colors so he wouldn't clash."

"He just wants to look better than Ari," Sloan teases, but she's pleased her father took the time without her having to say anything. Her father is paying for the whole wedding, but then, he's always paid for everything. It's his attention she's always wanted. "When is he coming to the hotel?"

"He's not staying at the hotel, sweetheart." Melinda touches her arm and actually looks sympathetic, which is only slightly unsettling. "He's flying in at four in the morning to be here for your big day, though."

"Oh," Sloan says. She should have known. Her father's company is expanding to Asia right now, all in an effort to compete with MGA. He's going to give himself a heart attack one day.

"He'll be here in plenty of time to walk you down the aisle. Don't you worry. He's been talking about it non-stop for weeks. I'll fill in at the rehearsal and make sure he knows where he's supposed to be."

"Can I ask you something?" Sloan really doesn't have a heart-to-heart kind of relationship with Melinda. Sloan had moved out long before her father started his new life with his new family.

"Anything," Melinda says and pats the bed next to her, motioning for Sloan to sit. "Well, unless it involves money, because I really don't know anything about that part of your father's business."

"No, nothing like that. I just wondered," Sloan starts, a little shy, sitting on the edge of the bed. "How do you handle him being gone so much? Not just when he's out of town, but the working? You two seemed so happy those years when he stepped down at the agency."

"Oh, honey. He was so miserable staying home all the time I had to make him go back to work. A happy husband makes up for a lot of missed time. You just have to make the most of the rest of the time. Live your own life."

"I guess," Sloan says, let down in a way she didn't think she had the ability to be anymore.

"You'll be fine. You are so beautiful, sweetie. Eric loves you, everyone can see that, and your father says he's got great potential. You've got nothing to worry about."

The bachelor party is like every other party Turtle's ever thrown, over the top and full of strippers. Vince is the best man, but he likes to delegate, and Turtle and Johnny wanted in on it. All Vince did was set the price limit and name the location, their house, since Billy's back from Shady Pines for the wedding. At least this way if there's too many people or too much noise, Billy can go to his room.

Ari and the boys are having a blast, Billy's doing fine and most importantly E's having a good time. As it turns out, though, Vince is the one who wants to go to his room. He's slept with half the strippers, which Vince assumes is courtesy of Turtle, but he doesn't want another go with any of them, really doesn't want to watch them grind on E and if anyone offers E more, Vince doesn't want to see it.

One of the girls picks a dollar bill off Lloyd's face with her twat. Lloyd shrieks in horror and flails around comically. Actually, if Vince wasn't laughing his ass off, he'd probably be grossed out, too, but whatever. At least there's no ping-pong balls.

His head's pleasantly buzzing from pot and booze and whatever was in the little eyedropper when he begs off. “I'm getting too old for this,” he says into Eric's ear, light and humorous, hugging him tight. Vince puts his hand on E's chest and leans back in to whisper, “I'm going to hit my room. Congratulations, man.”

E leans into Vince and says, jovial and sharp at once, “Who's the lucky lady tonight?”

“No lady, just bed.” Vince hugs E one more time. The guy is somehow more touchable tonight. Not that E's ever had a problem with Vince draping himself all over him. Once Vince realized what he was doing he'd tried to stop, but old habits die hard. “Have a good party.”

Two hours later E stumbles into Vince's room. It's not like Vince was sleeping, it's way too loud, though the noise from the rest of the house seems a little lower than an hour ago. E shuts the door with an exaggerated, overly careful motion and climbs clumsily into Vince's bed. His face is flushed and his suit is appealingly rumpled, shirt pulled out, half the buttons undone, tie hanging loose on his chest. E's kneeling on Vince's bed, struggling with his jacket like it has straps, so Vince gets up and pushes it off his shoulders.

When Vince goes for the tie, E reaches up and kisses him. God. His whole body is screaming YES, but the back of his buzzing mind knows that something's wrong. Still, he kisses E, wet and hot on his bed. E pulls back, but leaves his arms wrapped around Vince's neck, says, “Let me have you,” eyes bright and burning. “Vince, please. Just tonight, let me have you.”

Vince can't say no, just groans and kisses him.

E's hands are everywhere, in Vince's hair, on Vince's throat, on his skin up under his t-shirt, on his ass down the back of his boxers, but Vince can't stop kissing E for any of it. Not until E gets his hand down the front and wraps his hand around Vince's dick. Vince shudders and collapses to the bed. E follows him down. Vince yanks E's shirt and tie up and off and throws them off the bed, onto the floor somewhere. E's working on his pants one handed, still using one hand to touch Vince's dick like it'll disappear if he lets go. Vince swats E's hand away; it's distracting and fuck if he's going to come before E's naked.

Vince is the king at getting his pants undone with one hand, but this time he uses both, strips E all the way down to his socks and licks his way back up to E's dick. Fuck. Fuck. He sucks it in all at once, gags and sucks again. It's so good, so fucking good. He's going to come from sucking E's dick, but that's okay.

E yanks hard on Vince's hair, pulls Vince up to kiss him and shoves his tongue deep in Vince's mouth, so Vince sucks that instead. E gasps and Vince rolls him over, presses him into the bed and does it again. E's trying to get Vince's t-shirt off, but Vince doesn't care, just wants to kiss E until one of them comes. E's wily, though, manages to get Vince's shirt off and barely break to breathe, gets his hands down Vince's shorts and push them out of the way with his knees until Vince gets with the program and shakes them off.

E rips his mouth away to gulp in air. Vince sucks kisses into E's throat. E says, “Touch me, fuck, please, touch me.”

When Vince drags his hand down E's chest and fists E's dick, tight and still wet with spit and sweat, E says, “Oh, god, I love you. Please.” And because Vince can't listen to that one second more, he can't, he covers E's mouth with his own and jerks E off like he's racing against the clock. They aren't even kissing, just panting and breathing each other's air; E's moaning and Vince is grunting and it's so fucking hot Vince just comes right then.

E makes this horrible mewling sound and ruts up into Vince's slack hand, and Vince gets back with the program. His hand is slippery with his own come now, so it's easy, so easy to stroke E off, sucking on his neck in a spot that makes E go completely rigid and whine and come. Vince keeps petting E's dick like it's a pet, but E passes out two seconds after he comes anyway.

Sloan's bridal shower trips her out. Tori's got it set up in one of the Salons at the hotel. Which is good, because no way could Sloan have hosted two hundred and fifty of her closest friends at the house. "Who are all these people," she asks Tori after shaking the hand of a short, stout woman in a purple velour track suit with Juicy written across the ass Sloan's sure she's never met.

"Well, some of them are Eric's relatives. His mother made me invite about eighty Murphy clan, but I think only about twenty of them R.S.V.P.'d."

"Those I think I can pick out," Sloan says with a laugh, spying half a dozen other squat women in lurid shades of animal print suits in fabrics so synthetic they make polyester look good. "Who are the rest of them?"

"Well, the Thetas are here," Tori starts, but Sloan has to stop her there.

"I don't know half the women running around with keys around their necks."

"Once I sent out an email, every former Theta in the greater Los Angeles area wanted to come," Tori explains. "Your wedding is like the social event of the season as far as they're concerned. They've been a big help with the arrangements, so be nice."

"I'm always nice."

"Yes, yes, of course you are. The rest of them are people you've been on committees with and industry wives your father and Melinda invited."

"Wives, huh?" Sloan says, spying Dana Gordon surrounded by round women and cheese dip, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Fine, industry people. Does that make you feel better about sucking up to them?"

"I have to suck up to them? It's my bridal shower. Where are my friends?"

"We aren't friends now? No, do not even say it. I know what goes on in that squirrelly head of yours. And don't worry. We're having a much more intimate pedi party in the spa area tonight. Lindsey helped me set it up and keep it on the down low. It's just the bridal party and a few friends like Mandy who can't come to the actual wedding."

"I love you. Have I mentioned that I love you?"

"Yeah, yeah. You're losing your touch. Just think of it like a charity ball and schmooze your ass off."

"It's my bridal shower," Sloan whines again, simultaneously putting on her game face. If there's one area where she learned from her mother, this is it. Her mother always knew how to work a room. "I shouldn't have to schmooze at my bridal shower."

"Get used to it, kid." Tori slaps her on the butt and sends her out to greet the masses.

This is it, Vince thinks as he burrows further under the covers. He's nervous and happy and not just a little freaked out, but he's got a sleeping E wrapped around him like an octopus and all is right with the world. He almost kinda wishes he hadn't messed up the little Best Friend Bear Turtle bought for him to give E forever ago, sleeping with it when he couldn't find his pillows. It would be funny and E'd laugh.

He feels it when E wakes up. Sure, E untangles them a little more quickly than Vince would have liked, but it's not weird or awkward. E just says, "Shit, I'm going to be late for Harvey if I don't get out of here. We've got a strategy session for the Medellín premiere at two."

"You're taking meetings the day after your bachelor party," Vince says, amused. "It's not that I don't appreciate the effort, man, but you work too hard. Take a day off."

Eric's gathering his clothes from the floor as he says, "I've got just as big a stake in that beast as you, so don't think I'm doing you any favors. We're never going to get a new house without Medellín coming in big."

"With you at the wheel, what could go wrong?" Vince feels sunny today. On top of the fucking world and nothing's gonna bring him down.

"Do not lay this all on me. You just remember if it all goes down in flames that this was your idea."

"My brilliant idea. I don't think you appreciate my genius sufficiently, E."

"Roll the dice with me one more time does not a brilliant idea make, Einstein."

"So I'll see you later, I guess."

"I don't know when I'll get done with Harvey," E says, collecting the last of his bachelor party ensemble. "I'll call you."

Vince feels like celebrating. Maybe not shout it to the rooftops kinda celebrating, but he could go for a nice steak. "You want I should make reservations for us over at the Palm to celebrate?"

"Lets not put the baby before the buggy." E says from the door, belt and coat hanging over his shoulder, socks and shoes in his hand. "Rain check?"

"Did you just say, put the baby before the buggy?" Vince laughs. "What are you, my grandmother?"

E flips him off on his way out the door.

There's a cold spot in the bed without E there, so Vince decides to get up, too. He wanders out to the kitchen in his t-shirt and shorts. Johnny's scrambling up some eggs and Turtle's sitting at the breakfast bar looking rough. They both nod at Vince on his way in. Turtle winces when Vince pulls a stool back on the granite floor.

Vince says, "Morning, sunshine," to Turtle and ruffles his hair, making sure to shake him as much as possible in the process.

"Morning to you, too, party pooper," Johnny says, sliding plates in front of Turtle and Vince. "One egg white omelet for the properly hung-over bachelor party-goer, and one calcium and protein enriched double cheese and bacon omelet to enhance stamina for the sad old man who can't even make it until two in the morning before he has to beg off and go to bed."

"Thanks Johnny," Vince says brightly. Turtle makes a face when he gets a whiff of Vince's omlette. Vince chews with his mouth open and wags his tongue at Turtle with his bite of eggs only half chewed, then laughs when Turtle's face goes ashy. "Mmm. It's so good."

"Gross, man," Turtle says, turning away.

"What's got you in such a good mood this fine morning?" Johnny asks. "You ditched the party too early for it to have been a girl."

"Nope, no girl. I'm thinking we should take a trip."

"Yeah?" Johnny says, hopefully. "Where to, bro?"

"I'm thinking Vegas," Vince says. Perfect place to roll the dice. E will probably appreciate the symbolism. "We should book it for Friday."

"You get hit in the head before you went to bed last night?" Turtle asks, fake checking Vince for a head injury by poking him in the forehead hard a couple times. "E's wedding's on Saturday. You know, the wedding where you're the best man."

"Right." Vince holds his fork still in front of his mouth for a second. That was kind of the idea, but E might want to be the one to tell the guys. "Sunday, then. Get a jet. Oh, and book the honeymoon suite."

"Awesome," Johnny says. "One of us gets a honeymoon, we all get a honeymoon. Who needs a wedding when you can have a honeymoon in Vegas with the boys, am I right?"

"Always, Johnny," Vince says, smiling.

Sloan wakes up from a deep sleep when Eric pulls the sheets back and slips into bed with her. She can't remember what she was dreaming. "What are you doing here?" She smiles. Tori must have let him in, or maybe she arranged for him to have a key; she's good like that. She squints at the clock. "It's late. I didn't think I'd see you until tomorrow for the rehearsal dinner."

"I couldn't wait to see you," Eric says and kisses her.

They make love in the freakishly comfortable hotel bed. After, he kisses her belly and talks to her eggs. She giggles at first, she can't help it; it's a little silly and his breath across her skin tickles. He introduces himself to them and tells him that one day he's going to be their daddy and that he loves them very much. Sloan laughs and kisses the hair on the top of his head. He blows a raspberry on her navel. She squeals with laughter and tries to squirm away, but he catches her and tickles her until she thinks she's going to pee herself.

She thinks, I can do this, and I love him, and I'm going to have his babies.

Eric rolls onto his back and throws his arms wide for her to snuggle up into, which she does, although she nips him on the chest first. He says, "I love you."

She says, "I love you, too." It's the first time all day she has no doubts.

"That's convenient–" he says, wrapping his arms around her tight, "–since you're stuck with me."

Vince stays awake all night. He goes in E's room and packs E a bag for Vegas: lots of clean underwear, a variety of shirts and slacks, E's ridiculously huge Hawaiian print swim trunks. He packs E's old bathrobe, the one that's been hanging on the back of the door to Vince's bathroom since it was E's bathroom door. Fresh bottles of all E's toiletries from under the sink, E gets picky about that kind of thing. Nothing to sleep in.

At four in the morning he plays Guitar Hero with the volume up loud enough to wake Turtle and Johnny. Billy's drugs make him practically comatose, but Vince is totally fine with that. Much as he's proud of their successes, he's missed his boys. Johnny wipes the floor with them on Freebird. Turtle and Vince are duly impressed. Turtle massacres them both at when they switch over to Rock Band.

At seven Johnny says, "Not that we're not all having a good time, bro, but is there a reason we are up at the ass crack of dawn playing video games?"

Vince just shrugs. He says, "Hey, Turtle, what's the odds on the wedding?"

"I'm hurt you would imply I'd bet on the future happiness of a friend," Turtle says, hand to his heart.

"Like you'd let an opportunity like this slide," Vince says. His smile feels tight.

"Thirty to one," Turtle says dismissively. "Not even worth it."

Vince pulls a crisp hundred dollar bill from his back pocket and slaps it down on the table. "Put me down for a hundy on that one."

"Yeah?" Turtle sounds surprised, but he pockets the cash anyway. "You know something you want to share with the rest of the class?"

"What, and ruin the odds?" Vince smiles in what he can only hope is an enigmatic way and picks up the game controller. "Hook me up with Hotel California."

Johnny corners him in the hall around noon, when Vince is starting to drag ass. "What's going on?"

Vince tries to brush him off, brush past him, but Johnny's not budging. "Nothing."

"What's up with you betting against the home team?" Johnny's using his serious voice. "Something going on with you and E I should know about?"

Vince sighs hard. He says, "Not for me to say, man."

"You really think E's gonna pussy out on his fifty thousand dollar wedding?"

"Like E gives a shit about the price of the linens and the floral arrangements or whatever they're spending all that cash on. Sloan's daddy ponied up for the whole thing."

Johnny shakes his head. "God, you're an ass sometimes."

"Love you, too, Johnny." Vince crosses his arms across his chest. He's tired and he's cold and he wants to go to bed now.

"He's getting married, Vince. You gotta get that straight in your head or you're gonna get hurt."

"Thanks for looking out for me," Vince says and means it. "But I can take care of myself."

"Sure you can," Johnny says and lets Vince pass.

The week flies by and suddenly she's standing in a room with three full length mirrors staring at herself in her wedding dress. There are so many curlers in her hair she can barely hold her head up and her makeup is so dark she looks constantly surprised. Tori's fluttering around making sure all the bridesmaids know what they're doing and have all their accessories right. Sloan could care less about all that. Her father's not here, yet.

Someone comes by to take the curlers out of her hair. The amount of hairspray they blast at her could burn a hole in the ozone layer the size of Texas, but she's pretty damn certain it's going to stay just the way they fixed it.

"You look lovely." Her father's voice is rich and familiar and so welcome tears well up in her eyes.

She turns so fast her hair wobbles. "Daddy!"

"Hello, Princess." He pulls her into his arms. She feels so warm and safe she doesn't want the hug to end. "You didn't think I'd miss your big day, did you?"

"No." She hates the way her voice warbles. "No, of course not."

"Nothing in the world could keep me away from your side. I understand I have an important job to do today, though I'm not sure I'm quite ready to give you away."

"Thank you, Daddy." Tears spill out of her eyes. She hopes to hell that her mascara is waterproof, but even if it's not, that"s not going to stop her from burying her face in her father's chest and clinging to him.

Her father lifts her chin with a finger till their eyes meet. "Anything for you, my beautiful girl." He kisses her forehead. "Let's go meet your young man, shall we? I believe they're playing our song."

Vince is standing in a dressing room like a thousand others he's been in over the years, wearing a custom made tuxedo with a deep copper vest and tie, and he has no idea what he's doing there. The brilliant red Original Love lily boutonnière won't stay put; the irony is not lost on him, but he suspects the symbolism was lost on Tori or whoever ordered them from Leo in WeHo. E's boutonnière's one of those same little white lilies with the outline around the edge Vince can never remember the name of, the ones he filled E's room with when Sloan moved in. The rest of the guys have wide open Tiger lilies in their lapels; they actually look pretty good, all cleaned up in monkey suits with their hair slicked back.

Billy's yelling at everyone and basically treating his crew like this is a big budget studio picture, so he bugs out pretty quickly. The photographer takes Johnny and Turtle out for some shots of who the fuck knows what artsy crap Billy ordered. Ari leaves to go sit with his wife and kids because he's a pussy, and also because Mrs. Ari is crazy scary in social situations, so Vince totally understands. Thing is, that leaves Vince and Eric alone in the dressing room, which, actually is smaller than Vince thought now that it doesn't have anyone in it.

Eric has had some reason to leave every room Vince has been in since they woke up together and Vince just now, this minute, feeling the body warm metal of the wedding rings in his pocket, gets that the reason E's going to leave the room this time isn't to go tell Sloan the wedding is off. E's getting married. E's really fucking getting married and no amount of Vince wanting things to stay the same will ever make it be the same ever again. This is it, and somehow, despite their nearly year-long engagement, Vince is taken totally off guard.

He just blurts out, "I didn't think you'd really do it." Out loud, which just makes him sound like an idiot, a pathetic, desperate idiot.

Eric snaps his head to look at Vince. If Vince really thinks about it, he's sure he'll be able to remember the last time E really looked at him full in the face, when their eyes met like this and neither one of them was drunk or stoned or both, but right now he can't. He feels like he's staring into the sun. Like he's seeing a shadow in front of everything from staring into the sun too long. He can't look down and he can't look away and he can't believe this is the fucking moment E chooses to really see him.

But there Eric is, looking right in Vince's eyes and asking him, "You think I should do it?" like Vince's answer matters. "You think I should get married?"

The thing of it is, Vince's answer might matter. Eric's been his best friend for twenty-five years, his manager going on five and today he's Best Man in Eric's wedding. Three days ago E came in Vince's room, asked if he could have him, told him he loved him and left, and right now Vince's answer might mean something. The question rattles around in Vince's head a few decades long seconds, but today Vince's answer to that question might actually matter, so much as Vince wants to say, God, no, it fucking rips my heart out, no, he is Eric's best friend.

Vince shakes his head. "You just can't ask me that question. Not here. Not now."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Vince? You're my best friend. And you fucking brought it up."

"Yeah, I am. And as your best friend I am telling you that is a real fucking important question and I am not the guy you want answering it."

"Yeah, Vince, it really fucking is important. I don't ask you, who the fuck should I ask?"

"Johnny, Turtle, fucking Billy even, but not me. I'll call Ari and he'll come back here and talk to you, or better fucking yet, we'll get Sloan back here, but it can't be me."

"Why?" Eric takes the two steps between them and grabs Vince's wrist, like Vince could actually make his body move from this spot right here, right now. "Why can't it be you?"

"It could have been me," Vince says. "Any time, any other fucking time but now, you could have thrown that out there. I might even have been able to give you a good answer, but I'm not throwing the fucking dice with your life right now. You would have asked me three days ago I would have told you, no problem, but today what I say might actually matter and I can't be the guy who talks you out of marrying her ten minutes before she's set to walk down the aisle anymore than I can be the guy who talks you into it."

Eric just looks at him, at every part of him, almost like he can see through him, so hard it makes Vince, who gets looked at for a living, uncomfortable. It seems like forever and no time at all before the Wedding Planner pops her head in to tell them it's time, but even then Eric doesn't stop looking. And then something shifts and Vince knows the answer. E's hand pulls Vince in and they're hugging, tight and fierce. E says, "I love you," and lets go.

As they walk to the door Vince's eyes start to water. E didn't say, You're the best friend I ever had, or man, or You're like family or any of the hundred other true things he's said in the past to diminish it. Vince doesn't say I'll miss you, but just because he doesn't say it, doesn't mean E dosn't hear it, doesn't make it any less true. He wants to grab E, hug him one more time, just long enough to say, "I love you, too," but E's already gone.

For an entire week Sloan and Eric have a delightful time in Italy. She shows him where she used to live, the places she loved, feeds him the things she loves to eat. She takes him to Florence for the art and Rome to see the Pope (from afar, which is apparently enough for E's mother), Venice to see the canals and Torino to see the cars (but makes him call it Turin, like the locals and won't let him test drive anything, nothing at all). He doesn't show her the places he went or the things he saw when he was here before. She thinks they both appreciate that.

Harvey calls on Friday night. Saturday morning they are in Paris, very romantic, just like Eric promises it will be every time he changes their plans. London looks like London always looks. Dreary. Sloan prefers the bright skies of the Mediterranean, but Eric makes a few quick calls and they spend the evening in what has to be the loudest pub in all of England cheering for rugby, Sloan's favorite. Something about that first summer in Italy watching her cousin's team practice in the hot sun.

Düsseldorf is unexpected, but she finds plenty to do while Eric is off working.

The thing is, it's okay to cry at weddings. Ari cried for god's sake. It's even okay to cry at the airport, sometimes, but this isn't fucking one of them, and Vince can't seem to stop. He has to get himself together so he can get off the fucking plane, because he has to get off the fucking plane before the fucking plane takes him to the fucking honeymoon suite at the fucking Venetian.

Getting himself together doesn't seem to be in the cards for Vince, so he fakes a mild case of food poisoning. He's an actor, he can fake that his complete inability to get control over himself is over bad clams, particularly since he feels like puking anyway. Won't even be much of a stretch. All it takes is two fingers down the back of his throat and he's off the plane feeling better already.

Last thing he fucking needs is Johnny hovering over him and Turtle bitching about missing out on Vegas, so he sends the guys ahead. He tells them he's already paid for it, someone might as well enjoy it. He tells them he's fine, he just needs some rest, and he'll catch up with them as soon as he feels better. Johnny says, "Remember to keep hydrated, bro. Sure, it might make you puke now, but you'll feel better in the long run," and Vince is golden.

The pot doctor hooks Vince up with a prescription that makes him stop leaking from the eyes like a broken faucet. Actually, it makes Vince stop feeling anything, which is just what the doctor fucking ordered, but also weirdly feels, well, weird. Like it or not, though, the second he stops taking them, just two hours late for a stupid pill, and –bam– he's crying and disoriented, and he's really starting to wonder exactly what is in those little white capsules.

The guys are gone, the house is empty and Vince has never really liked being alone. He cabs it over to Shady Pines because he's just that desperate, and besides, the place is kind of soothing what with the waterfalls and fountains and shit. Billy looks as happy to see Vince as Vince is capable of looking happy to see Billy. Billy says, "Sit the fuck down, you look like shit," and Vince feels better.

He crashes on Billy's couch for three days before Billy says, "You wanna move in, you gotta get admitted. That's the rules. Otherwise you gotta go home and take a fucking shower, man. You reek and it's fucking up my concentration." When Billy Walsh tells you you need a shower, you've pretty much hit rock bottom as far as Vince can tell.

Vince drags his ass home, showers, flushes all his little white pills down the toilet and watches Rudy so he doesn't feel like such a pussy for crying. It feels so good he raids E's stash of sensitive guy movies, which he's pretty sure didn't contain a copy of Beaches before E married Sloan, but whatever. Vince is an adult. He can watch Beaches if he wants to. He feels like a total pussy, but he watches it five times anyway, and then switches to Yentl when he finds himself thinking Eric is the wind beneath his wings and actually singing. Out loud. He has to believe that the Barbara Streisand collection belongs to Sloan, too, because Vince has gotta believe even he isn't that oblivious, along with at least half of the twelve other broken-hearted-girl-does-it-on-her-own piece of shit chick flicks Vince watches solid without sleeping. He finally passes out watching Bridget Jones' Diary on the big screen in E and Sloan's room.

When he wakes up fifteen hours later he feels not what he'd call better, but at least not quite so out of control he needs to fake an illness and take scary fucking drugs to get through his day. Johnny and Turtle will be back tomorrow, Johnny says, but Turtle's on some kind of a hot streak, so it's a toss up. It's only a matter of time before they come back flat broke and full of themselves, though, so he cleans up. Turtle'd never let him live down Tootsie. He goes back to Billy's place.

"This about the Suit?" Billy's voice is completely toneless.

"No." Vince hides his face in his hands. It's a good thing he's not working right now because he can't act for shit. "Yes. I don't know. I'm not used to being alone."

Billy fixes him with this intensely creepy, dead-eyed stare that scares the fuck out of Vince. "It never gets better. They'll try to tell you it gets better, time heals all wounds, but that's bullshit. Don't you fucking listen to them, Vinnie. It never gets better."

All Vince can think to say to that is, "Okay."

"Art is pain, Vinnie. Promise me you won't forget." Billy turns abruptly back to whatever project he's working on without waiting for Vince to answer. He keeps mumbling, "Art is pain," again, over and over under his breath like a mantra.

Vince goes home and the boys are waiting.

When Sloan and Eric walk in the door she feels a profound sense of relief. Also, there are balloons. Lots of orange balloons. She's not really sure what that's about, but has to assume it has something to do with Johnny arranging a party. There are certain things that clearly denote Turtle planning, like girls with big breasts stuffed into tiny satin outfits, and then, there's Johnny party planning: a vegi tray from Costco and balloons. It's good to be home.

Johnny takes her bags and says, "Mr. and Mrs. Murphy," with a huge grin and a hug for each of them. "Back from the Continent and looking hale as ever."

Eric slaps Johnny on the back and says, "It's good to see you, man."

The process repeats when Turtle walks in the room, only he says, "Well if it ain't Mr. and Mrs. McQuewick," before tugging her husband into a hug. "Two months, man? One more week, and we were gonna flip for your room. That's prime real estate, baby."

She notices Billy hanging back on the couch before she sees Vince. She squeaks a little when he hugs her, but Vince winks at her. He's a better actor than he used to be. Still, he doesn't appear to be able to stop his voice from cracking when he shakes E's hand. "The whole organization's falling apart without you."

"Hey, premiere's next week, Harvey's had me working since the end of the first week. We got some nice publicity for Medellín in France, thank god, but we're gonna be huge in England." Eric doesn't remember to let go of Vince's hand right away, but Vince drops it for him, and heads for the couches.

"In the mean time, we've got another World Premiere movie for you," Vince says, slinging his arm around Billy's shoulder. "Billy here finished cutting your wedding footage just in time for your homecoming party."

"That's very sweet, Billy," Sloan says, but Billy doesn't look at her, just bounces his knees a little the way they've all come to know before a premiere. "Thank you. That means a lot to us."

Eric says something to the same effect and then they're all eating carrot sticks, the lights are out, and the screen flips on. Sloan feels a tingle of anticipation in her belly. The wedding is pretty much a blur from the time her father showed up until she got on the plane. Mostly she remembers how her hands got sweaty and her ankles felt weak. She remembers handing her bouquet to Tori because she thought she might fall, and then after that, all she remembers is the blue of Eric's eyes.

The music at the beginning is haunting. Billy says, "I scored it myself with an Indian rain stick, a wood flute and thirteen silver spoons in a lock box."

Vince says, "Nice." Which it is sort of, in a spooky kind of way. The footage at the beginning is all Sloan getting ready, cut in with candid moments of mostly middle-aged women. She recognizes Eric's mother and Rita Chase right off the bat. Most of the others are hard to place, but one woman in particular keeps coming up and for the life of her Sloan can't figure who she is. One of Eric's aunts, maybe?

The bridesmaids' procession is filmed double time, except for the ten seconds the camera hangs on Tori's face, and then everyone rises as Sloan enters the room on her father's arm. Sloan watches the camera cut to Eric's face. She remembers that look. There's footage of the three little flower girls running around the courtyard and time lapse photographs of withering flowers mixed into a montage of her walking up the aisle. Dead flowers aside, it's lovely.

It's clear by the way Eric's lit like he has a halo and the swell of the music that he's the hero of the piece. Subtle. He looks somehow taller standing in front of the priest who Sloan doesn't remember as being particularly small. Has to be the angle. The shot is framed so you can see the first couple groomsmen and Eric as the priest says the words, but the focus shifts again and all you can see is Vince's face and the back of Eric's head as he promise to love, honor, and cherish her. The tears in the corners of his eyes are very dramatic, and Sloan gets that Billy's used to shooting Vince, but it makes her shift in her seat just a little closer to Eric.

Everything is all out of order. Cut to a close up of Eric sliding her wedding ring onto her finger with a horrible crashing sound in the background. "Spoons," Billy says, like he knows what she's thinking. That isn't what came next in the wedding. It's the Father's admonishment that the institution of marriage was created to keep man from sin and that's where everything goes to hell. There's porn cut into her wedding video. Bad, homemade porn, just bodies rutting together under a threadbare blanket. She'd stop it right here but it's like a train wreck and nobody moves. A second later it cuts back to the priest, this time asking Sloan to repeat after him, which she does.

There's a brief flash of muzzle fire. It was almost too much to hope for a film by Billy with no guns, because it's clear that's what this is, a Film by Billy Walsh, not her wedding video. The Father says, "Sloan Amber McQuewick, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, forsaking all others?" The camera pans to her, but when she says, "I do," she's obviously naked, but cropped. She says it over and over again, I do, I do, I do and the shot pulls out to show her in all her glory, saying, "I do, I love you," and kissing Billy in the dark of his bedroom.

Turtle says, "Fuck," but everyone's still paralyzed.

The shot cuts back to Eric looking at her in her wedding dress, loving her for that brief moment, then cuts to Billy ramming home inside her, back to Eric smiling, then the bed, the bed, Vince with tears spilling artistically down his face, Eric kissing her, Billy kissing her. She thought it couldn't get worse, but somehow it does, because the next shot isn't Sloan, or the wedding at all, it's Kat picking up a gun and shooting Billy's mother, then right back to Sloan in bed with Billy, Vince and Eric hugging at the reception like they might never see each other again, then Billy keening and holding his bleeding mother.

Which is when Johnny jumps up and hits the power button on the TV a dozen times and rips the cord out of the wall, but not before the film cuts to a close up of Eric and his mother dancing at the reception.

Eric says, "Jesus Christ, Billy."

At the end of the night Vince will be an Academy Award winning actor, or not, but either way he'll be going home with E. Since both Vince and Eric are nominated, they take Johnny and Turtle as their dates and make Ari sit with Harvey. When George Clooney reads, "And the Oscar goes to... Billy Walsh, Medellín," for Best Adapted Screenplay, the announcer calls out, "Accepting on behalf of Mr. Walsh, Vincent Chase, nominated for his first Academy Award tonight for Best Actor for his performance in Medellín, and Eric Murphy, producer, also nominated tonight in the Best Picture category for Medellín."

Vince shakes George fucking Clooney's hand while Eric steps up to the podium. "Billy's sorry he couldn't make it tonight, but Vince and I are honored to accept this award on his behalf. We've been privileged to work with Billy, not just as a writer but as a director, on three films, and it's his vision and uncompromising dedication to the work that shines through in the final product every time. He's a brilliant guy and a true friend. If Billy were here tonight, you probably wouldn't be able to get him to shut up, but the most important person he'd thank would be his mother, who died last year, but who always pushed him to be better than he thought he could be on his own. Thank you."

Harvey bugs out before the after parties, but that's fine. The five of them roll from one party to the next until Mrs. Ari's curfew kicks into effect. Before he leaves, Ari says, "You forgive me for ever doubting you, my little good luck charm?" with his head cocked to the side, arms wide at his sides.

E just laughs and lets Ari hug the crap out of him. "Couldn't have done it without you, man."

"That's right, and don't you forget it, but if you and Vinnie keep all your homoerotic playtime confined to your freakishly small little house in the Hills like we talked about, and I never again have to witness your pale, freckled ass getting pounded by Pablo fucking Escobar over here, we'll call it even, okay?"

Vince says, "Ari, I swear to god, if I catch you calling the house before dawn to talk dirty to my boy--"

"Not today, Vin, you have my word. I will let you do the honors, if only because when I called after the Golden Globes I heard the two of you doing things not even Lloyd is gay enough to be exposed to. But, I make no promises for next week. We've got an opening, baby."

The End

The Prompt:

Characters: Vince/Eric and/or Billy/Sloan (weird desire to see this pairing). I love all the guys-Ari and Lloyd included, and wouldn't mind seeing some minor characters like Scott, or Dom, or Emily

What you'd like to see: Some of my kinks are possessiveness, jealousy, marking. I love humor and/or angst, I love successful E, Domestic fic, road trips, but again I'm flexible, don't feel restricted by any of that.

What you don't like to see: If it's V/E I pretty much need a HEA, with anything else, I'm flexible, just please no intense character bashing.

Preferred rating: any

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