Remember WENN and its characters are copyright AMC/Howard Meltzer Prods and of course the Master -we should all bow before him- Rupert Holmes. Story's entirely mine.
Because so many people have asked (I feel like Sebastian after getting the doe-eyed look from Ariel. "Alright, Alright. What a soft shell I'm becoming." ;-) ) Here is a follow-up to 'Unexpected'. I honestly didn't want to -try- an attempt at what Jeff's explanation is, but it kinda happened in the course of the story. Ahh well.... :-)
Headaches
by Michele Savage (Bizarra)
The first thing Hilary noticed when she opened her eyes was the pain. She started to sit, but groaned and clamped a hand to her forehead. "I'm getting too old for this." Somewhere in the back of her mind she automatically retorted, *Seasoned.* Annoyed she dropped back down onto her pillow and threw the other one over her eyes. That's when it hit her.
She froze. *Wait a minute. I'm in bed.*
She moved the pillow covering her eyes, and opened them to confirm her thought. *How did I get here?* She went over in her mind what she could remember. *I drank, I danced, I argued with Jeff. I . . .*
Then she realized she was wearing a white satin gown. "Oh, please tell me I didn't do what I hope I didn't do."
She glanced to the space next to her, almost expecting him to be there, and was not happy with herself to realize she was disappointed that he wasn't. *Killing him would have been so much easier*
Swinging herself to a sitting position --slowly, thanks to the pounding in her head -- she grabbed the matching robe off the end of the bed and put it on.
*He must have brought me home last night.* "Jeffrey Singer. Sometimes . . ." She muttered wistfully, "sometimes."
She left the bedroom, slamming the door. And regretted it. She went immediately to the medicine cabinet and took two aspirin.
She walked downstairs fully expecting Jeff to be sleeping on the couch. She shrugged when he wasn't there, assuming he'd known better than to stay within yards of the house. Hilary walked on into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. If Mr. Ingram knew she'd switched brands, he'd have her head. But she couldn't bring herself to drink Ingram's coffee anymore. Too many memories. And she had to admit; she liked Mr. Medwicks coffee better anyway.
With the coffee brewing Hilary went to get the paper. She opened the front door and was greeted by the sight of her estranged husband looking very uncomfortably squashed in the porch swing. She smiled despite herself. Leaning against the doorframe, she watched the even rise and fall of his chest as he slept. He looked so innocent, *the rat!* and she had to admit, kind of cute stuffed into that swing. That had to be uncomfor . . . *Hilary! What are you doing?!* With an annoyed growl at herself, she walked outside intending to punish Jeff for the direction her thoughts were taking.
Jeff was awakened abruptly when he was unceremoniously dumped from the porch swing. He sat disoriented, but ducked quickly when he saw the swing's return arching menacingly toward his head. Hilary blocked the swing with her leg, inches before it slammed into Jeff's *thick skull*.
She stood over him, arms crossed, waiting. "Start talking."
Jeff sat quickly; glad she seemed to finally want to listen. "Hilary, Pavla and . . ."
"Not about that. The less I know about that, the healthier it is for you."
"But, I .."
She moved, letting the swing harmlessly bounce off Jeff's shoulder, and went into the house. He followed her in, but dropped the line of thought. For now.
"What did you want me to explain then?" he asked, following her into the kitchen.
"Why are you here." She sharply asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
"I . . . live here?" He replied tentatively, honestly wanting the answer to that question.
He unfortunately got his answer when she started laughing. "That's funny." She shoved a cup of coffee at him, spilling a bit of the hot liquid on his hand.
"Hilary!" he sat the cup on the table and wiped the hand against his pants and made sure he wasn't burned badly.
"Sorry." she said, not really meaning it, "I mean, why are you -here-."
"I brought you home."
"I told you I was a big girl. I could have gotten home myself." She argued.
He laughed, "Before or after you passed out?"
She started to leave the room in a huff, but Jeff quickly blocked the doorway. "Move!" She yelled.
"No." He said calmly, "I'm rather enjoying the conversation."
"We are not having a conversation." She crossed her arms, angrily. "I'm telling you to get out of my house."
"It's my house, too." He countered.
"I'm working that little detail out."
"I'm sure you are. But in order to officially work it out, you need my signature. And I like this house." He smugly smiled, "Now where were we? Ah yes. We were talking about you not remembering last night."
She lowered her eyelids, glaring, "I remember last night. Vividly."
"To a point." He reiterated. "I think you owe me a thank you."
"I don't owe you anything."
"Darling, if I hadn't been the drunk that followed you out of O'Malley's, it wouldn't have been -our- bed you woke up in." He lazily leaned against the frame and casually looked her over. "Or your own gown."
She stood tall, and tightened her crossed arms, slightly uncomfortable with the knowledge that he'd undressed her before he put her to bed.
"Oh, don't worry, I didn't take any liberties. If I had, you'd remember it."
"Don't flatter yourself!"
He grinned, almost enjoying her discomfort. "Don't think I wasn't tempted."
She growled annoyedly, and pulled the nearest chair out, sitting hard.
He stood straight again, "I know you Hilary. That little show last night was for my benefit."
She glared, but didn't speak.
Jeff applauded, "Bravo. You accomplished what you set out to do. You made me insanely jealous." He leaned closer to her while still blocking the doorframe, "But I could see right through your act. You wanted me to cut in long before I did."
"I don't dance with snakes." She deadpanned
"You danced with quite a few last night.
She stood again, and walked to him. "Let me rephrase that. I don't dance with -married- snakes."
He pointed to her, and repeated, "You danced with quite a few last night."
She took a deep angered breath, "Jeffrey, where -is- your other wife?"
"Actually, there is no other wife." He snapped his fingers as if remembering something, "That's right. You've never let me explain that."
"This is no joking matter." She tried to push through him; to get out of the kitchen.
When she pushed against him, Jeff wrapped his arms around her and trapped her between one side of the doorframe, and his body. "I'm not joking."
She struggled, desperate to get away. "Let go of me!"
He moved one of his arms to trap hers and keep her still. As still as possible. "I'm not letting you go until you listen to me."
She continued to fight, hoping to loosen his tight grip. "Jeffrey, please."
"No" he told her, softly.
"I'll scream!" She threatened, and started struggling violently again.
He tried to calm her, then finally blurted,"I did it for you, Mittens!"
She stilled immediately, confused.
"I did it for you." he repeated, nearly a whisper. "I was afraid they'd use you to get to me."
"They?" she asked, relaxing in his arms. Now willing to listen.
"I . . . can't tell you everything." He told her, "But there was suspicion that a Nazi spy ring was passing code into the United States via short wave radio. British Intelligence found they were using small radio stations around the country for their relays. WENN was one of them."
Hilary wrenched out of Jeff's grip and sat at the dining room table. "There was a man, not long ago, who came to the station accusing poor Eugenia, of all people, of passing code through our shows." She put her hand on her forehead, trying to remember, "What was his name? Um . . . Quist! Desmond Quist." She looked at Jeff, "I don't understand what this has to do with . . ."
Jeff moved to sit opposite her at the table. "I should not be telling you this. But Quist was my American contact."
"Jeffrey, what did you get involved in?" She asked, starting to worry.
"Too much." He leaned his arms on the table and put his head into his hands, "I fully intended to be back in three weeks. I was just going to do more broadcasts."
"What changed that?" she asked.
"British Intelligence met me at the airport. I'm not going to tell you what they wanted. I've already told you too much." He explained, hoping she'd understand.
She gave him a perplexed look, "That still doesn't explain . . ."
"Pavla." he finished. "What they asked me to do . . . was dangerous. I was afraid . . . that if the Nazi's here found out I was the link, they'd use you to get to me." He reached to her and took her hand, "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you were hurt . . . or killed because of what I was doing."
She pulled her hand away, and sat back, "So you faked a marriage to get me out of your life. Out of danger."
"Yes."
"What about her? If I was in danger . . .?"
"Pavla is now living somewhere in the states with a completely new identity." He explained.
"Was she really who she said she was?" Hilary asked, "Other than not being married to you."
He nodded, "she was a Czechoslovakian refugee working at the BBC. Pavla did a few radio shows, so I thought she'd be able to, well, to fool you into thinking I'd married her. In return for . . . "
"Ruining our lives." Hilary interrupted.
He regarded her with an understanding glance. "She was given a full visa into the United States."
Hilary pushed away from the table, stood and started pacing, trying to make sense of the news she'd just heard.
She turned to him, "Why are you back here now?"
"They found who they were looking for, my job is done. By now, hopefully the spy at WENN is in custody. I was told I could resume my life." He answered her as best he could.
"Resume your life? Just like that." She laughed bitterly, "Hello darling, I'm home. Sorry about the other wife."
"I don't expect to pick up where we left off."
"That's good." She said sadly, and walked to the fireplace, leaning on her arm against the mantle. "Because I don't know if we can pick up at all."
He stepped up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder, "I want the chance to try."
She brushed him away, and turned to face him, "I don't know if you realize how . . . hurt I was. I am."
"I know." He caressed her cheek, "I would gladly give my life to take away that pain."
"I need time, Jeff." She walked away from him, away from his touch. "I don't know if I can ever trust you again."
"I'll prove that you can."
She half-sat against the table and said nothing, not knowing what to say. She knew tears were falling down her cheeks unchecked and she didn't care. Her mind was in complete turmoil. Should she welcome him back with open arms or should she never see him again? She knew never wanting to see him again was just avoiding the fact that she really couldn't live without him. The last few months had painfully proven that to her.
As if reading her mind, he gave her a solution, "I'll stay at the hotel I'm in now, until I can find a place . . . to live." He walked closer to her, "If you want a divorce, I won't like it, but I won't fight it."
She wiped away some of the tears, "Right now, I'm not sure what I want."
"What I want," he brushed more of her tears away with his thumb, "is to see you smile again." He bent and kissed her forehead, then started for the door.
She followed him; suddenly afraid he was walking out of her life for good. "Jeffrey . . ."
He turned, and the look of panic on her face answered all the questions he had about her feelings. "We'll start over, Mittens." Walking back to her, he took her into his arms and held her tightly, "Then I'm never leaving again."
Tilting her head slightly, he kissed her softly, tasting the salt of tears on her lips.
"You can have all the time and space you need." He wrote down where he was staying and gave her the number. "Anytime you want to talk or see me, you call. I don't care if it's three in the morning."
She held the paper he'd written on tightly, as if it were a precious jewel she didn't want to lose, and followed him to the door.
He opened the screen and started to step out, but turned back to her and said softly, "I love you, Hilary."
After kissing her again, he left.
Hilary curled up on the porch swing in the blanket Jeff had used the night before and watched him walk down the street, heading toward downtown and his hotel, until she could no longer see him.
"I love you too, Pumpkin." She whispered softly.
The End