Well, I just finished my first WENN fanfic, and I humbly offer my
creation to all of you. :-) Thanks are due to Lisa, who seems to have
a knack for finding shows I can be inspired by, and Biz, for her
encouragement and support as I reached the end of this thing. Yes, Biz,
you can archive this...anyone else, ask me first. I'll say yes, I just
want to know where it is. And please, please, give me feedback!

Thanks are also due, of course, to Rupert Holmes and the rest of the
cast and crew over at AMC. They own these characters, I don't <notice
the disclaimer slid neatly in there>, and yet they so graciously allow
us to have our fun with them. Hmm...that could be taken in some
interesting ways...never mind. ;-)

This is set shortly after Jeff's first return from London.

Nightscape

by Jennifer Feith

He'd forgotten what the nights were like.

Since coming back from London, his nights had been haunted
by dreams. Nightmares in which he knew he was dying, and
that he would never see Pittsburgh and Hilary Booth again.
He had forgotten what it was to simply sleep. To wake up in
the middle of the night naturally, not because of a dream,
and turn to see Hilary's sleeping form beside him.

He had always liked watching her sleep. In sleep, the
carefully crafted defenses she held tightly around herself
crumbled. She couldn't throw out any of the pointed barbs
that he had learned were merely yet another shield around a
vulnerable heart. He was free to look for as long as he
liked.

Not that Hilary Booth would ever discourage anyone from
looking at her. If she had known she was the focus of his
attention at that moment, she would have been positively--he
tried to think of a kinder word than "preening," but there
wasn't one. Hilary loved attention, craved admiration, and
he was happy to give them to her. For himself, though, he
preferred the quiet, unguarded moments he could catch from
time to time.

There had been fewer of these nighttime moments since
London. He and Hilary had gained so much since his return,
an emotional closeness that he wouldn't trade for anything.
For the first time, he was completely sure of his feelings
for Hilary--and hers for him. She was beginning to let down
her guard on occasion, when there was no one but him there
to see. The glimpses he had gotten into the heart and soul
of Hilary Booth more than made up for the fact that he
usually didn't get to watch her in this completely relaxed
state anymore. If he woke up in the middle of the night
now, it was because Hilary had coaxed, soothed, or shaken
him out of yet another nightmare.

She was usually awake before him in the mornings now, too.
He had almost begun to wonder if she had given up sleep to
listen for his nightmares. She certainly couldn't be
sleeping very heavily these days--most of the time, his
nightmares barely had a chance to take hold before she
chased them away.

Hilary shifted in her sleep, her face coming into the bit of
light that had filtered in from the street. He frowned.
Were those tears? Gently, he reached to confirm with his
touch what he had seen. The redoubtable Hilary Booth was
crying in her sleep. Apparently he wasn't the only one with
nightmares.

"Hilary," he murmured, keeping his voice soft--he wanted to
ease her out of whatever she was dreaming, not startle her
awake. He slid one arm underneath her and around her
shoulders, pulling her close, while smoothing her tears away
with his other hand. "Hilary, love, wake up."

Her eyes fluttered open briefly as she rolled easily into
his arms. "Jeffrey?"

There was a longing and a fear in her voice as she called
his name in her sleep that tore at his heart. He wondered
if she was reliving the same night that was usually featured
in his nightmares. He could only imagine--and had, many
times--what she must have gone through, listening to his
broadcast during the bombing. He had been absolutely
terrified; some of that, he knew, must have shown in his
voice, to Hilary if no one else. For her to have to listen
to that, unable to do anything to protect him...and then,
worse still, the static that followed when the broadcast was
cut off...he sometimes wondered if that night hadn't been
worse for her than for him. "I'm right here, Hilary," he
reassured her.

Her eyes didn't open again, but she appeared to have heard
him. One arm came up to snake around him as he rolled
slightly and pulled gently so that her head rested on his
chest. No new tears formed to replace the ones he had
brushed away, and he thought he saw the ghost of a smile on
her face. Whatever her dreams had been, they had apparently
been replaced by more pleasant ones.

He began to wonder if this, too, was something Hilary had
done for him. How many more nightmares did he not remember,
simply because Hilary had managed to alter their course
before they could disrupt his slumber?

"I love you, Hilary Booth," he whispered. Not for the first
time, he made himself--and her--a silent vow. No matter
what happened, he wasn't going to let her slip away. If
nothing else, his brush with death in London had taught him
that she was the most important thing in his life.
Sometimes he felt it had been worth the hours he had spent
lying among the debris, worth the nightmares, just to know
that she felt the same way.

He glanced at the clock; it was three thirty. If neither of
them were plagued by nightmares, there was still time to get
a few hours sleep before they would have to get up and go to
work. Hilary in his arms, he closed his eyes and let sleep
overtake him.

The bed was warm, the dream inviting. Insistently, though,
the first rays of sunlight streamed in from around the
curtains. In a half-conscious attempt to keep them from
encroaching upon her sleep, she buried her face in the
pillow beside her husband's still body.

Wait a minute...Jeffrey's *still* body? Usually, by the
time the sun was up, he would be tossing and turning again.
His restlessness would have woken her--she glanced at the
clock--at least a half hour ago.

Was it possible that Jeff had, at last, slept through a
night without nightmares? It certainly seemed so. "Now if
we could just do something about *my* dreams," she muttered.
Though...it did seem that she had had a better night than
most, herself.

She started to get up, only to realize that Jeff's arms were
still around her. She could have slipped out of his
sleep-loosened embrace, of course. Looking down at her
husband, though, a better idea occurred to her. Lowering
her face to meet his, she kissed his lips.

Jeffrey's response, though sluggish at first, became more
enthusiastic as awareness returned. It was some time before
she pulled away, leaving what she observed--with more than a
hint of self-satisfaction--to be a decidedly silly grin on
his face.

"Mmm," he said at last, when the ability to make sound
returned. The capacity for coherent speech soon followed.
"What was that for?"

She flashed him her best stage smile. "I just thought that
had to be a more pleasant way to get up than the way you
*have* been waking up lately."

"I'd have to agree with that." His hands found her waist
and pulled her down in an attempt to finish what she'd
started.

Before he could get too far with that plan, though, Hilary
had slipped out of his grasp. "As much as I'd like to
continue this, pumpkin, I'm afraid we've overslept."

"What's this?" Jeff put on a look of shock. "Hilary Booth
is concerned about being late?"

She indulged in one more, quick kiss before sitting up and
swinging her legs off the bed. "I'll be the first to admit
that I don't mind letting them sweat a bit, darling, but if
we don't get out of bed and get moving *now*, WENN will be
missing its star when the broadcast day begins...and that
wouldn't be very professional of me, now, would it?"

"And Hilary Booth is nothing if not a professional." Jeff
sat up as well.

She smiled. "How good of you to notice." The smile faded.
"Although...there is one thing I've done that wasn't very
professional."

Her voice was grave. Jeff frowned. "What would that be?"

She looked away as if embarrassed to hide her smile. "I'm
afraid I've...fallen in love with my costar."

Jeffrey struggled to keep a straight face. "I see. And how
does Mackie feel about this?"

Hilary whirled on him, her flare of anger at not being taken
seriously fading quickly as she saw the emotion lurking
behind his mirth. "I love you, too, Hilary," he said
softly.

She smiled. Despite her earlier protestations, she
stretched to give him another kiss. "We can't tell anyone,
you know," she murmured. "It's simply scandalous."

"Absolutely shocking," Jeff concurred, his eyes sparkling
unrepentantly as he stole yet another kiss.

Betty rushed into the studio. "Mackie, Maple--Jeff and
Hilary aren't here yet, you're going to have to be ready to
read their roles just in case." She hurried back out, too
quickly to catch the completely unsurprised looks on the
faces of the cast. "Gertie, any sign of them?"

Gertie looked up from the switchboard. "No, Betty, but it's
only seven fifty-six; they've still got three minutes and
fifty-five seconds before Hilary surpasses her record."

Betty started to pace, scripts in hand. Someone really was
going to have to talk to those two. She was happy that they
were happy, but the station needed them a little
more...focused than they'd been of late. Sooner or later,
she was afraid the state they'd been in was going to affect
the station's broadcast.

And *that* would be nothing less than a scandal.

THE END

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