Characters are copyright, Rupert Holmes, The Entertainment group, Howard Meltzer prods, and AMC. No infringement is intended. The story idea, however is mine.
~Denotes Italics~
*Denotes thoughts*
-Denotes emphasis-
This story takes place during the episode "The New Actor". It fills in the overnight period between Jeff deciding to go back to London and when he actually leaves. It was also written BEFORE I saw Mr & Mrs Singer. (An episode which I hate to love. Or is that love to hate? Either way it's a Trauma!;-) And as a warning . . this is rated TV-M There is no sex in the story, however it is implied. Use your own judgement. :-)
Aftermath 2: "I'm going back."
A Remember WENN fanfic
By Michele Savage
At the knock on her door, Betty looked up from her typing. "It's open."
Jeff walked in and closed the door behind him. "Betty, if Hilary and I don't need to be on the air anymore tonight, do you mind if we go on home?"
"You haven't told her yet, have you?"
Jeff grinned helplessly, "I'd rather everyone not witness a murder. Namely mine."
Betty returned his smile, "Sure. We can have Maple read the ~Library Theatre~ story, after the game. Go on." Betty leaned up to start typing, but thought again and looked up, "We certainly are going to miss you, Jeff."
"Oh, I'll be back before you know I'm gone." He said, assuring himself more than anyone.
Betty smiled; the unspoken remembrance of Victor passing between them. "Go on Jeff, you need to spend the evening with Hilary, not us."
"Thanks." Jeff left the room, closing the door behind him.
Betty stared at the closed door. Sudden streaks of both anger and regret panged her. "How many more lives are you going to change, Victor?" She shook off her feelings and went back to her typing.
Jeff pushed open the green room door and boisterously addressed his wife, who sat boredly thumbing through a magazine, "Miss-us Singer"
She glanced up and retorted, "Mis-ter Booth"
"Ha, ha" he sat opposite her and yanked the magazine from her grasp.
"You're in an awfully good mood." Hilary observed.
"We, my dearest, have the rest of the evening to ourselves." he stood, pulled Hilary out of her chair and waltzed her around the room. "What would you like to do first?"
She smiled, "Find whatever it is you've been drinking and have some."
He turned in the dance and dipped slightly. He gently kissed her and straightened, "I love you, Hilary Booth."
"I love you too, Pumpkin." she answered, pursing her eyebrows in confusion at his sudden seriousness.
Jeff saw her confused look, and quickly sidestepped his way out of an explanation by grabbing her purse and tossing it her way.
"Let's go home and see what mischief we can get into." he said, pulling her suggestively against him.
She traced his cheekbone with her finger and purred, "Mischief is my middle name."
"Hmmm, " he murmured against her lips, "I have heard that."
"Oh, excuse me."
Jeff and Hilary both turned to the door, each looking like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Gertie stood with her arms crossed looking both embarrassed and perturbed.
Jeff pushed Hilary toward the door, "Uh, we were just leaving, Gertie."
"Yes, leaving." Hilary gave a slight wave as she walked past the switchboard operator.
As the door swung shut behind them, Gertie rolled her eyes and groaned.
****************
Hilary sat on the recliner in the den and pulled her robe snugly around her. She sighed contentedly. Life doesn't get much better than this. Sure she could be on Broadway, but truth be told, she'd miss the small radio station that had become a second home.
She has a handsome husband who loves her, *and quite well*, she smiled, her thoughts turning to earlier. When they'd gotten home, they barely made it upstairs. She sank deeper into the recliner as she let her mind drift into sensual thoughts.
The smell of food roused her from her memories. "He cooks, too. Maybe I will keep him this time." She eased out of the recliner and wandered toward the kitchen.
Leaning against the doorframe, she watched Jeff stir the food he had cooking on the stove. Casually she let her eyes travel over his body, noticing he'd just thrown on the pants to his pajamas when he'd come downstairs. He opened the oven, pulled a tray out and set it on the counter; the muscles playing across his back as he moved. Hilary shook her head, jarring herself away from the thought.
"Pumpkin." she spoke softly, letting her presence be known.
He turned and smiled, "I've just about got dinner ready."
She walked toward him and walked her fingers up his chest and around his neck, "I thought I already had dinner."
He kissed her, "No, that was dessert."
"I always knew pumpkins were an anytime treat." She whispered, nipping lightly at his neck.
"Uh, huh." Jeff dislodged himself from her embrace. "My sauce is burning."
Hilary glanced at the stove and noticed what he was cooking. "What is this?"
"Chicken cordon-bleu"
"I know that sweetheart, but . . . what's going on?" She asked suddenly suspicious.
"Nothing's going on." Jeff replied hastily.
"We have a very rare evening at home. We spend most of it in bed, not that I'm complaining, and now you are cooking my favorite dinner." She noted, ticking the details off on her hand. She walked toward the kitchen table and leaned against it, facing Jeff. "It's not our anniversary. Either one of them." She let the question remain unsaid, and instead regarded her husband with a look.
"Hilary, darling, can't I do anything 'just because'."
"Jeffrey, my love, you've never done anything 'just because'."
Jeff tightened his grip on the spatula he held, *I'm not going to fight tonight.* "I thought maybe I'd start." He snapped in frustration. Turning, he took a deep breath and started dishing up dinner.
Hilary watched, confused. *I'm missing something.* Shrugging slightly, she walked up behind him and slid her hand softly against his bare shoulder. "I'm sorry." She planted a kiss on his shoulder blade. "What can I help you with?"
"Here," he handed her two plates and silverware. "You can set the table for me."
She took the plates from him and walked into the dining room. While setting the table, she pondered over why she was suddenly being treated like a queen. Not that Jeff wasn't an attentive husband, but this seems different. *He's avoiding something.*
She looked up and caught him watching her from the doorway.
"What?" she asked as he carried out the food he was holding.
He set the hot dishes down, "Nothing. I was just watching you." He gently pushed a wayward auburn curl behind her ear.
Lifting her hand, Hilary caressed his cheek, "Pumpkin, what are you trying to muster the courage to tell me?" She asked quietly.
Jeff sighed, defeated. He pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit. He sat in the chair next to her and took her hands in his. "I was listening to that 'Benedict' Arnold today and I suddenly realized I've been feeling like I've left something unfinished."
The numbing coldness of realization washed over Hilary and she pulled her hands away from Jeff. "You're going back to London." she said, her voice devoid of emotion.
"Yes." he answered quietly.
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?!" Hilary rose, angry now, "When did you decide to take this little trip to hell? And why," she glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantle, "at 11:30 am -I- just now finding out?" She took a step toward Jeff, "Am I the last person to know?"
"Well, M-mackie doesn't know." Jeff answered needlessly.
She sat again, "Jeff, you nearly died last time."
"Victor did."
She stood again, "So you are going to sacrifice your life in Victor's honor?" She gestured to Jeff, "Well I have a news bulletin for you Pumpkin, every time you go on the air at WENN you honor Victor's memory."
"Hilary, I have to go."
"Why?"
"Have you heard Jonathan Arnold? The garbage he's saying?" Jeff asked.
"I don't make it a habit to listen to German short wave radio. When did you hear it?"
"This afternoon, in the green room."
"Well, that explains why no one liked my crab cakes." she remarked offhandedly.
"Speaking of crab cakes." Jeff gestured toward the table. "Our dinner is getting cold."
She sat hard into the chair and spread the napkin across her lap. "I'm not considering this subject closed."
Jeff moved to his usual chair opposite hers, "I didn't think you would."
The meal was eaten in strained silence. Each expecting the other to continue the conversation, neither speaking up.
When they'd finished eating, Jeff began to clear the dishes.
Hilary tossed her napkin onto the table, "If you're leaving tomorrow, I should get you packed." She stormed upstairs and slammed the door.
Jeff followed her with his eyes and jumped when he heard the bedroom door slam. "Well, that could've gone better." he mumbled aloud and finished clearing the table.
He wanted to follow her, but knew that at this moment he was the last person she wanted to see.
While washing the dishes, Jeff went over in his mind whether or not he was doing the right thing. *I wonder if Jonathan Arnold ever asks himself this question?*
Upstairs, Hilary had tossed Jeff's suitcase onto the bed and was angrily filling it with clothes. "This bloody war!" She said under her breath as she haphazardly folded a sweater and tossed it into the case.
She crouched to reach the bottom drawer in the dresser, pull it open and grab a handful of underclothes. She threw them onto the bed and reached back in for socks. Her finger jammed into something solid. "Ow!" she pulled her hand out and inspected the fingernail. She groaned, seeing it was chipped.
Wondering what she'd hit, she shoved the contents of the drawer over to one side. "What is this?" she wondered aloud as she pulled a pair of handcuffs from the drawer. She raised one eyebrow, "Jeffrey Singer. What are you doing with these?"
Hearing footfalls on the steps, she put the handcuffs back into their corner of the sock drawer and scooted the displaced clothes back over them. She stuffed the underclothes she'd tossed on the bed into the suitcase and closed it. Pulling it off the bed, she opened the door just as Jeff was reaching for the knob.
"Hil . . ." he started to say, but was abruptly stopped when she shoved the suitcase at him and slammed the door. He stared momentarily at the closed door, then dropped the case against the wall. He reached for the doorknob and eased the door open slowly, fully expecting to get something else thrown at him.
She was in the bathroom brushing her hair. As he walked into the bedroom, she glared sadly at him and closed the door.
Jeff slid into his side of the bed and propped his pillow against the headboard. He stared at the closed door and wished like hell he could take the hurt away from her.
**You could stay here.** an inner voice suggested. *No, I've promised the BBC. It's just three weeks.* **Yeah, 'it's just a normal trip' said the captain of the Titanic.** His inner voice retorted. Jeff threw his head back against the pillow and growled in frustration.
He was, he admitted to himself, more than a little scared to be going back. Sometimes when he closed his eyes he could still hear the whining of the bombs. A completely silent room, harbors shadows now, ready to jump when least expected. He still smelled the acrid smoke from the explosion. Why -was- he going back? To be a voice of reason. Someone who wasn't Jonathan Arnold. And maybe to confront his fears.
His attention was drawn back when he heard Hilary walk into the bedroom. She purposefully avoided his eyes as she pulled the covers down and lay. She turned away from him and sighed loudly. He reached out to touch her, but she shrugged him away. He turned to his side, facing the opposite wall and clicked off the light. The black silence that settled was awkward and uncomfortable.
Jeff lay and listened to his wife quietly losing her struggle not to cry until he could no longer take it. He turned to her and gently caressed her shoulder. Sliding his arm beneath her, he turned her into his embrace. "Mittens, I'm sorry. This is something I -need- to do. I'll only be gone three or four weeks." he smiled softly and brushed away her tears. "After that you won't be able to get rid of me."
"You don't need to go to a war to prove yourself a hero. You've been reading too much Amazon Andy."
"That's not why I'm going. I'm going because a friendly voice needs to be there. Those people are beaten and scared. Their homes are gone. Schools, theatres, grocery stores. All gone. They need to hear someone on their side. Not that turncoat Arnold."
Hilary softly trailed a finger over his collarbone. He was a passionate man. That's one of the reasons she loved him so. "But why does it have to be you."
"If not me, then someone else will go."
"Then let someone else go."
"Hilary, you're being selfish."
She sat, "Of course I'm being selfish. You're my husband. I meant it when I married you this time."
He grinned, "Well, that's good to know. Because you -are- stuck with me, whether you like it or not, Hilary Singer . . .Booth." he added before she could, eliciting a smile from her. He kissed her, "I'm not going to be gone forever."
Her smile faded as she remembered the night when she thought he -was- gone forever. "You are going to a war zone, Pumpkin. You can't . . . promise that."
Jeff lowered his eyes slightly, not wanting her to see the fear. But he was too late. Hilary gathered him against her, letting him lay his head in the crook of her neck. *How many nights have we sat up like this.* she wondered, thinking of the nightmares he still occasionally had. Some he remembered; most he didn't. "Darling, if it's your fear that you are trying to confront, I can drop plenty of bombs on you here. Just get me angry enough."
He laughed, "That wouldn't take much."
She slid slightly lower, so she could meet his gaze. "What is it about you, Jeffrey Singer, that makes me want to both kiss you and kill you at the same time?"
"Just my easy going charm, I guess." he smugly replied.
"I think it's because I fought like hell not to fall in love with you, and I lost the battle. Hilary Booth doesn't like losing . . . anything." she trailed off, realizing what she was saying in the context of the moment. She pulled his mouth against hers, kissing him deeply, suddenly needing him badly.
He lay her back against the softness of the bed, and made love to her gently, wanting to memorize every detail of her, as if it were the last time. An annoying thought in the back of his mind insisted on reminding him that it could be the last time. He lost himself in her sighs of pleasure and ignored the thought.
********************************
The morning dawned as gloomy as Hilary felt. She went through the motions of breakfast, willing each moment to pass slowly. She couldn't take her eyes off her husband who sat opposite her reading the morning paper. She just couldn't let him go.
Her desperate mind flashed on the handcuffs she'd found. *It would be terrible if you missed your plane, Jeffrey.* she thought with a wicked grin.
"Hilary." Jeff had set the paper down and was watching her guardedly. "What are you thinking?" She had a dangerous look on her face. One that usually meant he should keep his eyes open.
She covered herself by picking up her dish and taking it to the sink. She bent and whispered into his ear. "I was thinking of last night."
Jeff leaned away from her, wanting to stop the rush of desire. "Uh, maybe you should go get dressed, darling. I'd rather not be late today. Betty is going to have enough trouble finding someone to replace me. I can at least do the morning shows."
She put her dish into the sink and walked back to Jeff. She purposefully leaned over him, knowing full well what she did to him. "Maybe I should find someone to replace you. At least temporarily."
"Hilary!"
"You're absolutely right. I'd never find anyone else who puts up with my mood swings." She straightened.
"Darling, hurricanes are more predictable." he retorted.
She responded by shrugging out of her robe and dropping it over his shoulder. With a devilish grin, she dropped a kiss on his nose, and went upstairs to get dressed.
Jeff smiled and shook his head slightly. He pulled the silken material into his lap. As he pulled it past his nose, he caught her scent. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and pictured her as she was last night, in his arms. *I miss you already, Mittens.* He carefully folded the robe, deciding he wanted to take a part of her with him.
Epilogue
Jeffrey waited for the elevator in the hallway outside the WENN studio. He could still hear her screaming for him. *Don't make this harder than it already is, Hilary.*
Handcuffs. He chuckled. He had to give her points for trying. The elevator dinged its arrival and the doors slid open. Jeff stepped in the car and pushed the lobby button.
"Goodbye, darling." he whispered as the doors closed.
Jeff walked to the cab and handed his case to the driver, who put it into the trunk. He looked up once more at the lit windows of WENN, and then slid into the cab.
"Airport right?" The driver asked as he drove away from the curb.
"Yes." Jeff settled back for the ride.
"Could you please tune the radio to WENN?"
"Yeah, sure." The driver switched the station. "Nice little station you guys run. I like the unpredictability of it."
~Pumpkii-ii-n!~
~Oh, look the pumpkin vendor, selling his wares.~
"Like that for instance." The man laughed.
It took every ounce of strength Jeff had to not have the cabby turn around when he heard the mournfull cry of his nickname. *I'm sorry, Hilary.* He leaned his head back against the seat and listened to Mackie try to get control of the situation. *Good luck Mackie. I lost control the day I met her. Sometimes I miss it.*
She was far enough from the microphone that he could barely hear what she was saying, but at one point, he could have sworn she said his name instead of 'Brent'. Jeff suddenly pictured the probable look on Mackie's face, and laughed. *The things we've put him through.*
The fierce shrill of the microphone reverberating sharply brought Jeff out of his thought. Then he could hear her clearly.
~Darling, let's not shout at each other any longer. I love you. Do you hear what I'm saying Brent? I love you.~
"Yes, I hear you Elizabeth." Jeff answered softly. He listened with mixed emotions to the rest of the episode.
"Here you go, McConnell Airport." The driver spoke as he pulled to the terminal building.
Jeff got out of the cab and took his case from the driver. He paid his fare, "Thanks."
He walked into the terminal, found a pay phone and called WENN. "Hi Gert, uh Mackie."
"Do I sound that much like Gertie?" Mackie asked doing a fairly credible imitation.
"I'm just used to her answering the phone."
"She ran downstairs to get lunch."
"Well, I just wanted to tell someone how to get Hilary loose."
"Aw, Jeff, couldn't we leave her in there a little while longer?"
"Mackie!
"I'm kidding," said the man of a thousand voices, coyly.
"I would like to talk to her once she is loose." Jeff requested after explaining the trick to the handcuffs.
"Ok, hold on."
Jeff waited, until he heard her footsteps running down the hall. *Like letting a wildcat loose.*
"Jeffrey Singer that really wasn't funny. You could have taken two seconds to get me out of those things!" Hilary screeched into the phone.
"And miss that stellar episode of ~The Hands of Time~?" He goaded.
"Jeff," She hesitated, swallowing her anger, "please be safe, my love."
"I will, Hilary." He heard his flight being called. "I have to go. My plane is leaving."
He could hear her take a deep breath.
"I love you." She said quietly.
"I will be back in a few weeks." He assured her. "I love you, too."
Hilary handed the phone back to Mackie, who hung it up. She looked up when Betty grabbed her arm and began pulling her down the hall toward the green room.
"C'mon Hilary, we've got some auditions to deal with. You're not getting out of it."
"Betty, I'm . . ."
" . . .going to go in there and cheer up."
"Or be sick."
"There you see," Betty said cheerfully, "everything's back to normal."
"As normal as can be without my . . ."
"Hilary." Betty admonished, then handed her a pile of scripts, "First up, a football player."
"You want to replace my Jeffrey with a football player?" Hilary asked, incredulous. Then she bent and whispered into Betty's ear, "What does he look like?"
Betty cast a sidelong glance at the woman next to her, and saw the hint of a grin. "Keep smiling, Hilary, it's going to get worse. One of the applicants is a mime."
"Oh, wonderful."
The End.