Remember WENN and it's characters are copyright AMC, The Entertainment Group/Howard Meltzer Productions and Rupert Holmes. No infringement is intended. The story however, is mine.
*denotes thoughts*
-denotes emphasis-
<<italics>>
A lot of us have noticed a change in Scott & Hilary's working relationship. Lately he's become almost her 'big brother'. I wanted to explore that a little bit.
This story is set between 'Mr & Mrs Singer' and 'Nothing Up My Sleeve'.
A Shoulder to Cry On
By Michele Savage (bizarra@infinet.com)
<<The women of WENN stood laughing in the green room. They were discussing a mispronunciation that Scott had made that morning on the air. Hilary took an offered cup of coffee from Betty with a nod of thanks.
"And then he made it worse by trying to pronounce it correctly." Maple added, laughing harder.
The door to the green room opened. Hilary looked up, her laughter dying as her mind registered who'd just walked into the room.
"Pumpkin . . ." she whispered. The coffee cup fell unnoticed from her hand and shattered as it hit the floor.
Betty jumped at the crash. She followed Hilary's gaze, and seeing that Jeffrey had just entered the room, decided that a hasty retreat was in order.. "Uh, Maple, Eugenia, I uh, just remembered. We need to . . ."
"Today's music." Eugenia supplied.
"Yeah, we need to go over today's music for, uh, Valiant Journey." Maple finished, herding the other two women toward the door.
The door swung shut behind Betty, leaving Jeff and Hilary alone.
Hilary stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do. Her first instinct was to rush into his arms, but she remembered, he wasn't hers to hold anymore. Her second instinct was to grab the nearest sharp object and impale him with it, but that was illegal. So she just stood there, staring.
"Hilary." He stepped toward her, smiling. "Darling."
She stepped backwards, not wanting to close the gap. "What are you doing here?" She asked with a slight edge.
Jeff stopped, surprised by her reaction. "I just got back into the country. I came here first, knowing you'd be here. I missed you."
"You -missed- me?" She stepped forward now, fueled by anger. "Did you grab the first woman you saw on the street? 'I miss my wife, let's get married.'"
"Hilary," he placed his hands on her shoulders as she stepped to him. Lifting her arms, she brushed him away, walked to the table and sat down.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." he sat next to her.
"Don't lie to me Jeffrey. It's beneath you," Hilary snapped. "Your princess from Prague told me all about it. In fact, she practically bragged."
"Someone came here and told you I married her?" Surprise registered on Jeff's face. "That's not possible. I'm married to you."
"Well apparently you forgot that tiny little detail when you married Pavla." Hilary spat the name venomously.
"Pavla? So this is where she disappeared to."
Hilary looked at him, incredulous. "You -married- this woman because she makes you feel like no other, and now you have no idea where she is? She's either pulling a fast one on you or . . . I don't know you anymore."
Jeff put his hand over hers, holding it tightly so she couldn't pull away. "Darling, listen to me, please."
She glanced at the table, unable to look at the plea on his face. *Why do I do this to myself.* "Okay," she looked him in the eyes, "I'll listen to what you have to say." she said quietly.
He smiled slightly, glad to at least have the chance. "Pavla was at the BBC. I think she did uh, secretarial work. I don't know. I barely knew her."
"You barely knew her? She knew an awful lot about you . . . and us."
"I swear Hilary, I hardly spoke to her outside of a 'thanks' for a cup of coffee or something. She must have seen in me a way to get to America."
Hilary walked to the middle of the room, unsure of what to think. She crossed her arms tightly, as if warding off a chill. She heard him walk up behind her, and felt him put his arms around her. She alternately wanted to either run or lean into his embrace. Instead, she turned to face him. "Jeffrey, I don't know what to believe."
"Believe that I love -you -." He whispered, leaning forward to kiss her . . . . . .>>
Hilary abruptly woke, momentarily disoriented. She sat, realizing she was on Jeff's empty side of the bed. "Pumpkin," she whispered, closing her eyes to the ache.
Moving off the bed, she put her robe on and glanced at the clock. *Eleven o'clock?* "Bloody hell, why can't I forget -my- nightmares?" She stalked downstairs to find something to drink. Anything to drink.
She went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. Starting to the den, she thought again, and returned to the kitchen for the whole bottle.
Hilary drank the wine in the glass and refilled. She sat on the small love seat in the den, and paged halfheartedly through a photo album. So many memories. So many years. She'd forgotten what life was like without Jeff. It seemed the billing had always been 'Hilary Booth and Jeffrey Singer', or 'Mr & Mrs Singer'. "Mrs Singer." she repeated with a sigh. She'd actually begun to consider the remote possibility of changing her professional name to Singer. "That'll happen now, when Hell freezes over."
She found the picture she was looking for. What she considered their wedding picture. It was taken in Matamoros the first time they married by one of the three Margarita's. After, of course, all the confusion due to Jeff's awful spanish.
She downed yet another glass of wine, and smiled at the memory. "Jeffrey, you certainly weren't my only husband." She fought the fresh tears. "But you were the only one that mattered." She tossed the album aside, the pictures suddenly too painful to see. She refilled her glass and drank it down, trying desperately to forget the hurt.
Hilary heard the knock the second time. Realizing someone was at her front door, she yelled, "In a minute!" Slamming the again empty glass on the coffee table, she went to the door. Though generally tipsy, she still had the presence of mind to ask who it was before opening the door. It -was- late.
"Scott."
"Who?!" she asked again, not sure she heard correctly.
"It's Scott, Hilary. Open the door will ya!"
She flung the door open, "Scotty!" She moved aside to let him in, throwing her arm around his shoulder as he passed. "It's late and Saturday. My husband would be furious if he knew you were here. Oh, wait. I don't -have - a husband anymore." She laughed at her own joke.
"Why Hildy Booth, you're drunk." He shut the door as he made the obvious observation.
She turned to him with a shocked look on her face. "Noo-oo, what reason could -I- POSSIBLY have for getting -drunk-!" She sarcastically spat.
Scott shrugged, conceding that point to her. She did have a reason. A damn good one.
Hilary turned and walked back into the den. Scott followed, catching her when she tripped over the hem of the white robe she wore.
He could tell she'd been crying and felt a little uncomfortable seeing her like this. This is the strongest woman he'd ever met. The last thing he expected was to see Hilary Booth a drunken crying mess. But then Jeff leaving her so abruptly was also the last thing he ever expected.
Since that woman showed up at the station with a marriage license, he'd been trying to figure out what the heck had happened. The last he saw, before Pruitt fired him, was Jeff and Hilary seemed to be happy. Hell, sometimes he watched them and wished Betty would look at him the way Jeff looked at Hilary. *But,* Scott thought, *that's -my- problem.* Right now, someone had to be a friend for Hilary.
" . . . some wine?"
"Huh?" Scott shook himself from his thoughts when he realized Hilary was talking to him.
"Do you want some?" She filled her glass again.
"Yeah, why not."
She handed him the bottle. "Let me go get you a glass."
Scott sat down and saw the photo album she'd tossed aside. He flipped through some of the pages. *Why'd you do it, Jeff?*
"Scotty?"
He looked up, feeling a little sheepish for having been caught looking at her private pictures.
Hilary handed him the glass, "Why are you here?"
"I saw your light go on."
She sat down next to him on the love seat, "You're watching my house?"
"I . . ." he'd been caught. "Yeah."
Hilary took a drink, "Care to explain?"
Scott set his glass down on the table, "Well, I've been making sure you got home okay since . . .We're all worried about you."
She walked across the room, "I don't know what to say." She laughed nervously, "I didn't know you, all of you, cared. I'm not the easiest person to care about. Just ask Jeff . . .rey." her voice trailed off. She'd forgotten again, that Jeff wasn't there anymore.
Scott walked to her and reassuringly put his hands on her upper arms. "Of course we care about you."
As soon as Scott touched her she collapsed into his arms, the woman in her needing to be held. "Why?" She cried.
A surprised Scott stood unsure of what to do. He hesitantly patted her back, "I, uh . . . let's sit down." He slowly walked them back to the love seat and helped her sit.
Hilary wiped her eyes with her hands, "I'm sorry." She said, a bit embarrassed.
Scott sat next to her and took her hands. "No, don't be sorry." He said reassuring her.
She pulled her hands away and clutched the skirting of her robe, "I've asked myself why Jeffrey would do this, out of the blue like this, over and over; and I am no closer to an answer now, than since the day that . . . woman . . . " She took a heavy breath and lay against the back of the love seat. "God Scott, is it me? I am a moody person."
"I hadn't noticed that." Scott quipped with a rakish grin.
Hilary glared at Scott through slitted eyes. She could see he was trying to cheer her up as best he could. She save a sarcastic grin, and kicked his ankle.
She stared at the ceiling, and folded her arms across her stomach. "Maybe it's my age. I hate that issue, but I -am - a lot older than Jeff. Maybe he decided I was too old."
"Hilary," Scott started to assure her that he didn't think that was the issue, but she went on oblivious to the fact that he'd even spoken.
"Maybe he decided he wanted to have children. We talked about that a few years ago, but decided against it. We were on the road too much with Razzle Dazzle and a few other shows. Once we settled in Pittsburgh and at WENN, we probably should have started a family. But it never occurred to us."
Scott listened, letting her speak and clear her mind.
"Maybe he just isn't attracted to me anymore." She turned her glance to Scott. "Scotty, do you find me attractive?"
Scott sat a little straighter, "I . . .uh . . .," he stammered. That question came out of nowhere. He didn't know how to answer her. If he said yes, what would her reaction be? He wasn't prepared nor was he willing to take a 'yes' any farther than the question itself. If he said no, well that would be a cheery boost to her ego at the moment. "Hilary, you're a beautiful woman . . ."
"You know," she interrupted, standing "That's what they all say." She walked to the window, "'Hilary, you're a beautiful woman', then the next morning they're gone and I'm feeling used yet again."
*Ok, Scotty-boy that was the wrong answer* He walked up to her. "That's not what I meant. Look Hil, you waylaid me with a question I didn't expect." He lay a hand on her shoulder, "You want my honest answer? I like you're spirit, I like your strength, and I really like the way your mind works. If I wasn't in lo . . . I mean . . . well, yes, I guess I do find you attractive."
Hilary smiled, "Thanks." She put her arm around his shoulders, "You know, Scotty you are an ok friend. Contrary to what Betty . . .wait . . . " she pointed a finger at him, "You're in love with Betty."
"Yeah, well I'm no more than a nuisance to her at this moment." Scott sat again, and poured himself another glass of wine. He tipped the bottle completely, dribbling the last of it's contents into his glass. "Well, guess we killed this, huh?"
"I've got another bottle." She offered.
"No, I've had enough and you had a good start before I even got here."
"You just changed the subject." Hilary sat in the rocker that faced the love seat.
"I did?"
"Yes, we were talking about Betty and you being in love with her."
Scott glanced at his watch, "Oh, will you look at the time."
Hilary smiled, "Oh will you listen to that excuse."
"Excuse? What excuse? It's almost three AM. Me spending the night here is not exactly the water cooler conversation I want to walk into on Monday."
Hilary laughed. "Thank you. For listening to me. For letting me cry on your shoulder. And mostly for not saying anything Monday or you'll find yourself resting in pieces next to Jeffrey."
"Remind me never to make you mad, Hildy." Scott jokingly cringed.
"Scott, why -do- you insist on calling me 'Hildy'."
"Cause it annoys the heck out of you. And for some reason it fits."
She just shook her head in response.
Hilary yawned, both the lateness of the hour and the alcohol finally getting to her.
"Hey, why don't you go on up to bed. I can see myself out." Scott suggested.
"I'd really rather not sleep in our . . . I keep having these damn nightmares." She admitted.
"Nightmares?"
"Sometimes Jeff comes home and he doesn't know who Pavla is. Sometimes he comes home with her draped on his arm, ridiculing me. And sometimes I see him laying in a burned out building somewhere in London and he's calling for me, but I can't reach him. The last one scares the hell out of me, because . . . it seems so real."
"The last one sounds like Jeff's nightmares. At least what I can remember from last year."
"I think so too." She agreed.
"Since he came back from London the first time, I've slept lightly until after he woke up. Now I can't sleep at all, because he's not there -to- wake up." Hilary continued.
"Was he still having nightmares?"
She nodded. "The night before he left he had a bad one." She pursed her eyebrows in thought, "He woke calling my name instead of Victor's. Since he's been gone, I lay awake half the night worrying . . . hoping someone is there when he wakes screaming. I wonder if she . . ." Hilary squeezed her eyes against a new onslaught of tears. "I can't believe this is happening."
"You and me both."
She glanced at Scott, a questioning look on her face.
"It makes no sense. Why would he leave someone like you for someone like her? You're nothing like her. You have a heart. It's in there somewhere, but you have one."
"Why thank you, Scotty. . . I think." She yawned again, and started to drift off to sleep.
"Ok," He helped her out of the chair, "Come on."
She sleepily let him lead her.
"Where do you want to go?" He asked. "Couch? Or upstairs." He realized when she leaned all her weight against him that she'd fallen asleep. "Ok, couch." He carried her the rest of the way, and lay her down. Pulling the blanket off the back of the couch, Scott covered her, making sure she was comfortable.
Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was three-thirty and decided he may as well wait till morning to go home. He switched off the light in the living room, and went back to the den to make himself comfortable on the small love seat. His feet hung off the side. Curling up, he briefly wondered why someone as tall as Jeff would have a couch this blasted short. He soon fell into a deep sleep, helped along by the wine.
Hilary woke up confused. "Why am I on the couch?"
"Good morning, Hilary, how 'bout some breakfast.?" Scott breezed into the living room holding a tray of food.
She jumped at the unexpected voice and covered herself with the blanket. "Scott! What are you," she stopped, remembering why he was there. "I thought you'd . . . how did I get to the couch?"
"I put you here after you fell asleep on me. Really, Hilary I've never put a woman to sleep." He kidded. "You'll ruin my reputation."
"Here, where would you like this?" He asked gesturing with the tray.
"We can eat in the kitchen, or have you already eaten?"
"No, I just fixed food for you. I'll eat something at home."
Hilary brushed aside the blanket and straightened her robe. "Don't be silly, Scotty. After what you did for me last night, the least I can do is fix you breakfast." She walked into the kitchen and started breakfast. "Breakfast is one of the few meals I actually like to cook. Jeff always tried to bribe me into cooking breakfast for dinner."
Scott sat and grinned, "How'd he manage that?"
"Oh, he managed." She smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Now drink your juice."
Hilary finished cooking the eggs and dished them up. She set one plate in front of Scott and sat in the chair opposite him with her plate.
"Wow Hilary, this is good."
"Well, contrary to popular belief, I can cook. I just don't make it a habit." She informed him, "Besides, you can't really do eggs wrong."
"Oh, yes you can. I have had some bad eggs."
Hilary laughed. "Scott, you are a bad egg."
"Hildy," Scott gave her a hurt look, "I'm not a bad egg. Just a little cracked."
She laughed. "Aren't we all."
They finished breakfast and Scott picked up the plates, volunteering to wash. "You cooked it, I'll clean it."
"Gee, Scotty, maybe I should tell Betty how handy you are around the house."
"I could use all the good points in my favor I can get."
Hilary laughed. "I'm going to get dressed." She told Scott and left him to the dirty dishes.
Scott watched her leave the room, glad that she seemed to be feeling better.
While washing dishes, Scott thought back to the question Hilary had asked him last night. "Why are you here". Why -was- he here? He realized that he was there out of love and concern for a friend.
Scott smiled. It was kind of nice to realize that had it been anyone else from WENN, he'd have done the same thing. He remembered following Betty home after Victor had died. Never before could he comprehend caring about a group of people or a place as much as he did WENN and the folks that inhabit it's halls. With a jarring thud, Scott Sherwood realized he'd finally found a home. And darned if he wasn't going to make every attempt to keep it a happy one.
He flicked a the towel across the now drying dishes and wandered into the living room to wait until Hilary finished dressing.
Hilary came downstairs fully dressed and found Scott sitting on the couch.
"I'm going to go on home now. You'll be okay?"
She smiled. "Yes. Thank you Scott. Honestly you were the last person I expected to be there when I needed someone. I really appreciate it."
"Call anytime you need a shoulder." He said as he opened the front door. "See ya Monday."
"Bye." she waved, and then shut the door.
EPILOGUE
Hilary walked into the den to get the two glasses and the empty bottle. She spotted the photo album on the floor and picked it up. She sat and found the picture from Mexico. She smiled sadly at the memories it evoked. The photograph was taken the day after their hasty marriage. She remembered waking up that morning thinking she'd made the worst mistake of her life. Several years later, that mistake turned out to be the best one she'd ever made.
But it's Jeffrey now that's making the mistake, she was sure of it. That Czechoslovakian tart wouldn't know love if it bit her. One day he'll see that. *Until that day comes, I have to let go.*
She slipped her wedding ring off and brought it to her lips, whispering, "Goodbye, my love." She tucked it onto the corner of the picture and in the tab holding the photo on the page. Closing the album, she replaced it on the shelf.
She left the den, and grabbed her purse. Holding her head high, -Miss- Hilary Booth went to see a movie. One she hoped Grace Cavendish wasn't in.
THE END