The usual copyrights are in order here. AMC, Howard Meltzer Prods and Rupert Holmes own the characters. The story is my fault. ;-)

This is a speculative story that popped into my head and insisted I write it. I make no honest predictions here, just a few wishes. J Enjoy. And as usual, Let me know what you think!

Welcome Home?

By Michele Savage

A very tired Jeffrey Singer walked through the front door of WENN, the only thought on his mind was seeing his wife. Three weeks. It was supposed to have only been three weeks.

The Germans had been bombing London daily since just before he’d gotten there and in a raid two weeks later, the airport had been destroyed. He’d only yesterday been able to get a flight on a military transport from a makeshift runway that had been set up.

To make matters worse the phone system had been rendered so completely hopeless, the only lines out of London were strictly military. He hadn’t spoken to anyone outside of the BBC until he’d gotten that mystery call from Betty. What the heck was that about? Why in god’s name would he be suing Hilary? And for that much money. *We don’t have that kind of money. *

Scott rounded the corner, and saw him. "You . . . you . . . I want to talk to you. Outside!" He angrily growled. He grabbed Jeff’s arm and pulled him back through the front door. Then deciding he’d better disarm Gertie, leaned back in. "You never saw this. I mean it Gertie!"

"Saw what?" she asked raising her eyebrow coyly.

"Sherwood, what is going on?" A confused Jeff asked, getting a bit angry.

"I’d like to ask you the same thing." Scott snapped, leading Jeff to the end of the hallway away from the door to WENN.

Jeff tossed his suitcase against the wall, not sure what was happening, but preparing himself for the fight Scott was apparently looking for. "I’m not in the mood for games. I’d like to see Hilary and go home to sleep."

"You want to rub salt in the wound?" Scott angrily said, "haven’t you hurt her enough?"

Jeff stood tall, a cold dread washed over him. "What are you talking about?"

"I’m talking about your new wife. Pablo . . . is that her name?"

"I think you’d better start at the beginning."

"I . . . I’d better start at the beginning?!" Scott asked flabbergasted, "What the heck happened over there, Jeff. What possessed you to marry another woman?"

"Scott, the only woman I’ll ever be married to is Hilary."

"Then I think you’d better break the news to your other Mrs. Singer."

"There –is- no other Mrs. Singer!" Jeff protested loudly.

"There isn’t?" Scott asked, finally realizing the other man was telling the truth.

"No!" Jeff sat on the couch along the wall, "Scott what happened while I was gone?"

Scott sat next to him, calming down. "A woman named Pavla Nemkova came to the station and told Hilary you’d married her in London."

"Oh god." Jeff started to get up, "Hilary."

Scott blocked him with his arm, "wait a minute."

"Wait hell, I’ve got to talk to her"

"Sit!"

Jeff obeyed, "There’s more."

"She had a marriage license, Jeff. I saw it myself."

Jeff leaned forward and rubbed his brow, "I didn’t marry her, Scott. She must have forged . . .

"Did she forge the fact that she knew you were married in Matamoros by what she called the local meat inspector." Scott interrupted, still angry, but now confused.

"Meat inspector?" Jeff stood, and walked to the window. "How did she know?" He looked at the buildings of downtown Pittsburgh. Unburned and standing tall. Just that morning he was thinking how precious to him the sight was. Now, to find out Hilary thinks he’s abandoned her, made the sight of those buildings meaningless. "Scott," he turned, "The first time Hilary and I got married, the justice also owned a processing plant. I’m not sure now that he was a justice. It’s not something I’m proud of." He sat again, taking a deep tired breath. "It’s also not something Hilary knows. Or knew."

"That’s . . . one of the reasons we got remarried."

"I know about the other reason." Scott admitted.

Jeff looked at the other man quickly, "How?"

"Hilary told me."

Jeff quirked his eyebrows in confusion. But realized since she thought he left her, she probably lashed back.

"Jeff, did the BBC have a bio on you?" Scott asked.

"Yeah, they . . ." realization dawned on Jeff, "She traced it back." He stood, again walking to the window. "Damn." He slammed his fist against the wall, and turned, intent on explaining everything to Hilary.

Scott stood, blocking his way again. "Wait. You need to know something."

His frustration mounting, Jeffrey checked himself from ramming through Scott. "What?" then he got worried. "Hilary’s okay isn’t she?"

Scott nodded, assuring the man who tightly held his lapels that "Yes, she’s okay. Will you let go."

"Sorry." Jeff said turning Scott loose.

Scott breathed deeply, now it was his turn to pace. "After Pablo . . . Pavla, whatever, left the station Hilary was . . . lifeless." Scott looked at Jeff who cringed at his description, "She . . . needed . . ."

"Someone to pick up the pieces and be her strength." Jeff finished, knowing his wife all too well.

"Y . . . yeah," Scott answered quietly and sat on the couch.

Jeff walked to where Scott sat and stood in front of him, "Are you in love with her?"

Scott leaned back and looked up at the weary man who’d just spent most of the year in a war zone only to come home and find his own world blown apart. "Only as a friend, Jeff. Only as a friend."

Jeff sat again, "Thank you. For . . . being there for her. I don’t know what else to say."

"Let me go talk to Hilary. Tell her you’re here." Scott clapped Jeff on the shoulder, "Maybe I can soften the blow."

Jeff watched Scott walk back into the station and hung his head into his hands. *Damn this war*

And he started sobbing. The things he’d seen while in London would likely be the stuff of nightmares for years. Buildings blown to burnt husks, a once proud city blackened and beaten. Bodies; God, the bodies. The worst was the children. The starving, homeless children, wandering the streets; crying over their dead mothers.

He’d been so looking forward to holding Hilary and not letting her go for a good long time.

Scott walked past the studio and noticed Hilary was already on the air. "Hell." He pushed into the green room, seeing Maple at the table. "Heya Mapes, would you do me a favor."

"Sure thing, Scotty."

"Finish your root beer and go relieve Hilary. I need to talk to her."

Maple took a long drink from the bottle and handed it to Scott, who set it back onto the table. "Okay, but if Hilary threatens me for taking another of her characters, I’m blaming you."

Scott followed Maple into the studio and gestured to Hilary that he needed to see her when she started to object at Maple’s taking her script.

"Okay Scotty," Hilary complained as she followed Scott back into the green room, "What is so important that you had to drag me out of the . . ."

"Jeff’s back." He interrupted.

"Studio . . . he," she sputtered, "what?" her legs gave out and she collapsed on the sofa.

Scott pulled one of the table chairs to the front of the couch and sat, "I’ve been talking to him, and . . . Hilary, he never married that woman."

"Do you believe him?" she asked, stunned.

Scott silently nodded. "He’s waiting in the outside hallway."

She started to stand, but found her legs refused to move. Part of her wanted to rush to him, the other part of her wanted to stay and . . . what? Hide? She noticed the hand held out to her.

She smiled and took the hand Scott offered. Pulling herself off the couch she took a deep breath.

Scott squeezed her hand and gave her a smile which she returned. Standing straight and squaring her shoulders, Hilary held her head high and walked out of the room.

She reached the front door and froze. Everything she’d been feeling the last couple months rushed forward and she suddenly felt exhausted. Shaking her head clear, she pushed open the door.

He was standing at the window. Even with his back to her, Hilary could tell he was bone tired. His normally straight posture was slouched and he was leaning against the glass. As she walked closer, she could tell he was wiping his eyes as if he’d been crying. Without even thinking about it, she reached out to him.

She softly lay her hand on his shoulder, "Pumpkin," she said quietly, through her own tears.

He turned and pulled her into his arms, and held her tightly. He didn’t give a damn if she was mad at him, he just needed to hold her. She could berate him later. His legs gave out and they sank to the floor. "Hilary, I . . ."

She pressed a finger to his mouth, shushing him. She softly replaced her finger with her lips; a kiss that quickly became a lifeline for them both. Jeff threaded his hands through her hair, pressing her as tightly against him as he could. He was afraid to let her go. Afraid she’d walk away, and not look back.

"Jeffrey," she whispered, "what happened?"

"I don’t know who she is, Hilary. The only words I ever said to her were, "Thank you" when she brought me tea." Jeff explained, the words coming out in a rushed tumble "I never saw her outside the BBC’s studio. Why she did what she did is beyond me."

Hilary listened as Jeff explained what he thought had happened. The more he talked the angrier she got at Pavla. *May she rot in the hell of her choosing* She noticed as he talked how tired he looked. And how much older. Her handsome Jeffrey. She wanted so badly to take away his pain. Make these last few months go away.

"Mittens," he said in a voice heavy with emotion. "I have –never- loved another woman like this."

"Jeff . . ." Hilary stopped when she realized that they were starting to draw attention. She noticed a woman turn her nose into the air. "We should get out of this hallway." She stated and started to stand, when Jeff tightened his grip on the back of her head. She winced slightly at the pull on her hair, and reached up to loosen his hold, assuring, "I’m not going anywhere, darling. We are starting to gain an audience."

At her assurance, he let her pull him to his feet. "We can have more privacy in Pruitt’s office." She told him, picking up his suitcase, and walking with him into WENN and to the closed office door.

Hilary knocked on the closed door, "Betty!"

"Betty?" Jeff asked, "This is her office now?"

"Yes and no." Hilary answered, "She uses it when Pruitt’s in New York. It may as well be hers as often as he’s gone."

Betty opened the door, "Jeff. Scott said you were back." She said shortly. "I assume you want to talk," she looked at Hilary who nodded. "I’ve got some writing I need to get done, anyway." She left the room to them and walked down the hall toward the writer’s room.

"Does everybody hate me?" He sat on the edge of the desk and asked when Hilary shut the door. Now that he was more confident that Hilary wasn’t going anywhere he felt better.

She closed the blinds and answered his question, "I wouldn’t say hate. We save that for Pruitt." She paced, trying to gauge her own feelings, "With you it’s more of a sharp dislike."

"I didn’t do . ." he started to repeat

"We didn’t know that!" she snapped sharply. She held up her hand and took a deep calming breath. "Sorry. But you have to understand for all we knew you met that cheap hussy on a street corner somewhere and decided you liked what she was selling."

"You know me better than that." He countered.

"Oh, yes. I know you better than that. You like to flaunt your women in front of me," She said, icily. "rather than let them do it themselves"

He stood and walked toward her, "Did you ever stop to think that maybe I was doing that on purpose!" He backed her into the wall as he spoke, blocking her exit with his arms on either side of her shoulders, "Maybe I was –trying- to make you jealous, Hilary! Trying to make you notice ME!" Jeff clenched his fists against the wall, trying desperately to reign in his anger.

Hilary flinched as his words hit her. She had never seen him this angry. Angry enough to actually scare her. The sad part was, he was right. She hadn’t realized he was doing that on purpose. She was too blinded with her own selfishness that she hadn’t noticed him. At all.

He glared in silent rage. When he spoke again, he was calmer. "I’m not sure exactly when I fell in love with you. But I know it was before we came to Pittsburgh. You say you love me. But sometimes I wonder if it’s me you love, or the fact that I’m a man that’s handy."

He didn’t see her hand before it connected with his face and grabbed her wrist too late. She twisted out of his grasp. "How dare you!" She seethed, putting some space between them.

She clutched the back of a chair tightly, letting the anger drain. "I gave you . . . more of me than you will ever know. More of myself than even I realized. Until you were gone . . . or, I thought you were gone." She confessed evenly.

Jeff reached for her, but she brushed him away. "Don’t . . . if I let you touch me, I won’t want you to let go. And I . . . can’t. Not right now."

"Then, I’ll go." He turned the knob on the door, but she stopped him.

"No!" She said in a panic.

"Okay." He walked behind the desk and sat. Giving her space.

She aimlessly paced, wanting to say something, but not knowing what to say. She noticed a paint chip on the wall where Scott’s smoking pipe picture had hung and flicked it away with a fingertip. "It was," she started, "when you stood up to Ted E Peck that I realized I was –in- love with you. It hit me like a ton of bricks." She sat opposite Jeff, the desk separating them. "Thinking back, I think I’ve always loved you." She leaned back in the chair, and laughed sadly at the irony. "Hilary Booth couldn’t be bothered by a pesky little emotion like love." She said, grandly sarcastic.

"But it was that pesky little emotion that brought me a happiness that I could only dream of, and a sadness that I wouldn’t wish on anyone." She added as an afterthought, "except maybe that two-bit tart who’s running around the country claiming to be married to you."

Jeff moved to the chair next to Hilary, "I’ll put a stop to that."

"Oh, no." she objected, "Let me. I would love to be able to throw those words back into her face. ‘You are the ex-Mrs. Singer’." She finished doing a purposefully poor imitation.

Jeff caressed her face, "Darling, I am –so- sorry you went through that. If only I could have talked to you somehow. Churchill was lucky if he got a phone line out of London. Every letter I wrote came back to me, not having left England."

"Jeff," Hilary remembered, "the last time I talked to you, the day –she- came, you said you had something to tell me. Something that I needed to hear from you first. We thought you were trying to tell me that you’d married her."

"No. That couldn’t be farther from the truth." He explained, "I was trying to tell you the airport had been hit and that I would likely be stuck in London for the duration of the war. I didn’t want you to read that in the papers or hear it on the radio. If it hadn’t been for a favor I called in, I’d still be there."

They both jumped at the knock on the door.

Hilary answered the door to find Scott. He gave her a slight supportive smile and walked part way into the room.

"I talked to Betty and she agreed to let Maple stand in for you for a few days." Scott patted her shoulder, "You both can go home and work this out . . . for as long as you need to."

Hilary moved so Scott could see Jeff to speak to him. "And when you get back Jeff, you can have your roles again." He added with a grin. "I’ll just con Betty into writing me new ones."

Jeff smiled unenthusiastically. He’d seen the glance that passed between Hilary and Scott; noticed the way he touched her. He stood and walked to the door, "Do you mind?" He told Scott, "we still have a few things to discuss."

He rushed Scott out of the office, shut the door and turned to Hilary, "Just how many of my roles is he filling?"

She stepped back slightly, understanding what he was asking, not sure how to answer. "Scott was there when I needed someone. He . . . took me home when I stayed a little too long at O’Malley’s." She sat again, leaning her elbow on the arm of the chair and her forehead against her hand. She closed her eyes, fighting the tears that again threatened. "He . . . stayed with me one night when I felt like a washed-up has been who’s . . . husband had just inexplicably left with a much younger woman."

Jeff knelt in front of her, took her other hand and rubbed his thumb across the back, comfortingly.

"He made me feel like I mattered. Made me feel attractive again."

The more he heard, the more he regretted going to London at all. He’d made that decision too fast, he knew, and had been paying for it ever since. The trip had been one nightmare after another. The one thing he would keep from Hilary was the fact that the transport plane he’d flown home in had been shot at, and hit. He was damn lucky to be alive. Had it not been for an expert pilot . . . well that’s something he didn’t want to contemplate.

"It was . . . only once . . . a few weeks after . . ." She clarified, needing for him to know. "And no one else knows" she added, making sure he knew that no one else –was- to know.

He cupped her chin and gently turned her face towards him, "Darling look at me, please" He smiled comfortingly when she met his eyes, "I . . . you thought I’d . . . I can’t blame you for feeling the way you did." He stood and pulled her to her feet and into a tight embrace. He tilted her head slightly upwards, "Hilary Booth, I promise from this day forward and for the rest of my life, you will never, ever feel that way again." He sealed his promise with a tender kiss.

NEW YORK CITY, three weeks later.

Jeff and Hilary sat inside the darkened theatre watching Pavla Nemkova attempting to act in a play that was just as bad. "It does my heart good to know you can’t get much farther off Broadway than this." Hilary whispered.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Jeff asked her, draping his arm possessively over her shoulders.

"You couldn’t keep me from it." She looked at Jeff’s watch, "How much longer is this dreadful thing?"

"You don’t happen to have a biased opinion do you?" Jeff asked her with a quiet laugh.

"Ha!" she whispered. Hilary had nearly come unglued when she saw that Pavla was billing herself as ‘Pavla Singer" It was all Jeff could do to keep her from storming the stage.

Finally the show was over. Of course Hilary did not bother with applause. She just stood and pulled Jeff from his seat. They reached the front of the theatre in time to see the man they were supposed to meet arrive.

"Mr. Jackson." Jeff said, offering his hand to the smartly suited gray haired man they had met with earlier in the day.

"Mr. And Mrs. Singer," Charles Jackson took Jeff’s hand in a warm handshake, "It’s nice to see you both again."

"Let’s get this over with, shall we?" Hilary stated impatiently. "I want this woman out of my life." She started walking toward the stage door of the rundown theatre.

Charles observed, "They say ‘hell hath no fury’."

"Hell hasn’t met Hilary Booth." Jeff laughed and walked with the older man around the building.

"Hello, Pablum." Hilary said to the surprised woman who’d answered the knock on her dressing room door. "Remember me?" Amid objections, Hilary barged into the dressing room. She started to shut the door, when the stage manager asked what the problem was. "Excuse me. The –other- Mrs. Singer and I have to talk." Hilary said, as she slammed the door in his face. She turned and faced the woman. She was going to enjoy this.

Pavla crossed her arms, "What is it you want?"

Hilary smiled sweetly, "Paybacks are hell, Pavla, and I’ve got a swell one!" She crossed her arms, and circled Pavla, "Did you know that our Jeffrey is home?" She noted the other woman had the grace to look surprised. "Oh, you didn’t know." Hilary feigned concern. "Well, I noticed he didn’t come home to you."

"So make your point, Miss Booth. I have another show to do."

"No dear," Hilary corrected, "it’s Mrs. Singer. You’re the ‘ex’ this time."

Hilary handed Pavla a folded paper. "You know, I’m having the oddest sense of deja’vu." She watched the other woman open the paper. "That is a marriage certificate. A copy of one, actually. The real one is at home in a safe deposit box." She walked behind Pavla, and pointed at the copy, "Those are Jeff’s and –my- signatures. Oh, and you’ll note the city it was issued from. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania."

She took the paper abruptly from Pavla causing her to jump. "You see, Jeffrey and I were remarried two weeks ago. By a judge who is most definitely –not- a meat inspector." She crossed her arms taking a definite ‘I win’ stance. "I heard most of Pittsburgh listened to that broadcast. Too bad you missed it."

Pavla took an annoyed breath, and raised an eyebrow, "Alright, you win. Are you happy now?"

"Ecstatic." Hilary supremely smiled. "Oh! Where are my manners." She walked to the door and opened it, "there’s someone I want you to meet."

Charles Jackson entered the room. Hilary stood behind him and put her hands on his shoulders, "This is Charles Jackson. He’s with Immigration."

Pavla stood straight, realizing she’d lost more than she anticipated.

"Well, must run. My husband and I have dinner plans." Hilary waved and turned to leave. "Oh, Pablum ," she swiveled on her feet, remembering something. "Have a nice flight home"

EPILOGUE

Jeff turned the radio on and found a station that was playing music. The current selection was an upbeat swing. He pulled Hilary to her feet and they laughed and danced around the sitting area of the hotel room. The song finished and they lingered in each other’s arms, swaying to a slower beat.

"I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I miss Pittsburgh." Hilary said, leaning into Jeff’s embrace.

"You do?" He asked, equally surprised.

"WENN and the people there became very important to me while you were gone. I realized when you were changing the stations that I didn’t hear Mackie reading the news, or Scott doing his horrid ‘Brent’s amnesia’ routine—I am so glad you’ll be back on the air; or Maple doing whatever it is she does, and I missed it."

"We can leave early if you want." Jeff suggested.

"Oh, no that’s quite alright." She objected and wound her arms around Jeff’s neck, "besides, I don’t want to cut short our third honeymoon."

"No, we wouldn’t want that." He agreed, kissing her. "Don’t they say third time is the charm?"

"It certainly is." She kissed him again and let him carry her to the bedroom.

The End.

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