by Shelly Call
Introduction: This little romantic, fluffy (yes, I
know, just label me a hopeless romantic- I'll wear the
name with pride!) piece came to me last week while I
was writing a completely different fanfiction. The
story was so clear in my mind that I had to take a
little detour and write it. Just think of this as an
alternate way for Betty to find out about Scott's
enlistment and enjoy!
All disclaimers apply- these characters are not mine!
Archiving: You need only ask!
Feedback: Yes, please- all comments welcome!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
December 8, 1941
11:30 pm
A metallic clang echoed through the alley as Scott's toe swung heedlessly into the side of the trash can. Momentarily blinded to other considerations by pain, he swore, then glanced quickly over his shoulder, half expecting a shouted challenge from a passerby. But silence reigned in the dark passageway alongside the Barbican Hotel for Women. He continued his trek to the back of the building, more careful this time to avoid whatever obstacles might be lurking in the impenetrable shadows.
He reached the darkened rear entrance he'd known must be there and drew a lockpick from his trouser pocket. Never mind how he'd acquired such a subversive tool. The only thing that mattered was that he hadn't used it in a very long time and the thing that necessitated it's use now was of such a nature that precluded such mundane considerations as legal and moral strictures.
The lock clicked open after a ridiculously short interval and Scott reminded himself to speak to Betty about it. His purposes for breaking in were innocent, the next person to try this door may not have such honorable intentions.
Surprisingly, the door swung open soundlessly and Scott stepped into a small kitchen, the usual appliances barely perceptible in the dim light. The darkness served his purpose, however, and as his eyes had adjusted to the lack of light in the alley he made his way with a fair show of confidence to a swinging door on the opposite wall. He paused, ear next to the door, knowing this was the first place in the house where he might expect opposition.
No sounds emanated from the room beyond and with a sure yet cautious hand, he pushed the door away from him and continued into the next room. The lobby spread before him, a cozy sitting room to his right. He continued to the reception area, noting with satisfaction the little table lamp that had been left burning on the desk. It was almost an invitation to him to discover which room was Betty's, he thought with a mischievous smile.
He made a quick but thorough search of the desk, at last finding a list of tenants. Betty was listed as the resident of 3C.
A board creaked somewhere above his head and Scott looked up, worrying that he might be discovered. For a moment, he was perfectly still, not daring to breathe. The sound did not repeat itself and he scolded himself for letting the sounds of an old house settling unnerve him. He felt confident that this area of the house was deserted, as were all the hallways above him. The residents of the Barbican were all respectably retired for the night. He only hoped one of them could be roused easily.
***********************
Betty rolled onto her back, again staring sightlessly at the ceiling, and sighed. How could she sleep when everything was such a mess? Her mind spiraled forward, utterly without control as a myriad of nightmarish possibilities flitted mockingly across the ceiling.
War. They were now a country at war and there'd been nothing else to think about or talk about all day. Most conversations consisted of nothing more than rumor, innuendo, and flat-out speculation and it would take someone wiser than her to sort out where the truth ended and the fear-inspired gossip began. She'd wanted to escape from it all day, not wanting to contemplate the possibility of bombing raids on US soil and saboteurs in their midst. And now that she had a few precious hours to herself, her mind would not shut down, would not focus on anything else because something had occurred to her that she hadn't considered before.
What if the men in her life decided to enlist? Not just her brothers, though she was concerned that they'd be unable to resist the temptation of the call to defend their country, but also the men at WENN. With them there were not only personal considerations, but professional ones as well- a line which blurred so often in her mind as to be virtually nonexistent.
In her mind she enumerated them once again: Jeff, Mr. Foley, Victor, Mackie (surely he was older than the ideal candidates the armed forces would be looking for?) and Mr. Eldridge (willing he most certainly was, but able? The thought made her smile affectionately).
Scott. The name stood apart in her mind for reasons she didn't dare to examine too closely, but every time her mind revolved to him, a cold little wedge of fear sliced minutely at her heart. Surely he would balk at the idea of military service. Scott Sherwood taking orders, toeing the line, hemmed in on every side by endless regulations? She laughed at the thought of it...almost.
She couldn't bring herself to be genuinely amused by the idea because, number one, the situation was too dire to be joked about and, number two, she knew Scott wasn't laughing.
The knock was so soft that Betty felt sure it was her imagination, or the protest of the ancient pipes concealed in the Barbican's walls. It came again, muted and insistent, and Betty found herself crossing the short distance to her door to listen again.
"Betty." Her name was an insistent hiss, concealing the identity of the speaker. "Open the door."
Thinking one of her neighbors was as wakeful as her, and as in need of distraction, she complied, unlocking the door and swinging it wide.
"Scott! What are you doing here?" she demanded in complete consternation.
He held up both hands to quiet her. "Shhh! Do you want to get evicted?" he whispered urgently.
"No," she answered vehemently, preparing to shut the door with an emphatic bang.
Sensing her intent, Scott braced his hand against the door. "Wait! If you do that, we'll both be in trouble."
Betty understood his logic and was rethinking the door slam when curiosity got the better of her. "What are you doing here?" she repeated with exaggerated patience.
Nervously, Scott glanced up and down the hallway. "Can I come in?"
"No!" The word sprang from her instinctively. His question was in violation of every propriety her mother had ever drummed into her head. What happened in the next moment, however, threw caution out the window.
The soft shuffle of a door opening somewhere down the hallway had them both looking swiftly to the right. Without thinking, Betty reached out and snagged Scott's tie, dragging him into the room ruthlessly and closing the door with unwonted force. Scott winced at the sound the door made and they both waited for a tense moment before they were sure no one had detected the unusual nighttime activity.
They exhaled deep breaths in unison, causing Scott to grin and Betty to glare. Her hand still clutched his tie and she gave it a little tug, as much to keep his attention as to distract hers. The room was small, barely enough to accommodate one person and the various odd bits of furniture the landlord provided. With Scott in the room, it was positively claustrophobic. Standing this close to her, he seemed taller, his shoulders, more broad. She hadn't moved since pulling him so precipitously into the room and she stood much too close to him to allow for comfortable breathing.
Carefully, she loosened her hold on his tie and stepped back a pace or two. That was better, but she still felt like he took up too much space, not only in her room, but also in her mind.
He followed her closely with his eyes, watching with regret the slow way her fingers unfurled from their grip on his tie. She stepped away from him, cold air replacing the area where she had so recently stood. He saw distance in her eyes, and curiosity, and just a little spark of anger. He liked that he could make her angry because it meant she cared. The one thing he knew he'd never survive was her indifference...and from the look of things right now, there was no danger of that.
"All right, Mr. Sherwood, you're inside. Now, besides the obvious intent to have me thrown into the street by the Barbican's board, what are you doing here?" An eyebrow arched angrily, but she waited patiently for a reply.
Hurt by the distancing use of his surname, Scott frowned. Maybe coming here hadn't been such a good idea after all. Reminded of his purpose, he was again resolute but knew he'd have to pick his way carefully through the minefield of Betty's anger. Desperately, he searched for an opening that wouldn't be too awkward for either of them, when Betty unknowingly solved the predicament.
"What are you wearing?" she asked, stepping involuntarily forward as she noticed his unusual clothing for the first time. "If that's a costume... it's not a costume," she said, decisively answering her own question. Her eyes sought his, a worried line appearing on her brow. The cold wedge struck home now and time ceased as she searched his eyes for a denial of the inescapable truth.
"No, it's not a costume," he confirmed, feeling at a loss. He read raw pain in her face, a reaction for which he hadn't prepared himself. "Not even I would sink to that."
"Oh, I didn't...I just..." Flustered, her eyes slipped from his. "I just didn't expect this so soon. "Do you have to go now? I don't want you to ..." She hesitated, unsure of what she wanted to say. Automatically, her hand had reached out to cover his heart and she felt the warm, scratchy wool of his uniform on her palm. The sensation was too real, the change to abrupt, her eyes closed.
"Hey, I'm not leaving tomorrow, you know. I have a month to get everything in order before I'm shipped out for basic training." His hands came up to cup her arms, large and warm, heating the chilled skin her nightgown left exposed. He wanted to reassure her, wanted to take her into his arms and comfort her, but knew that was going too far.
She seemed to realize it the same minute. The pain he'd seen was carefully guarded now and she stepped back again, outside the reach of his hands. "I'm glad. Glad for the station, I mean. It'll take that long to find a replacement for you." She fought to keep her tone businesslike.
Scott nodded, sudden hurt and anger twisting in his stomach. "Oh, sure, whatever's best for the station." He might as well have let the door slam in his face five minutes ago for all the progress he was making now.
"Is that why you came here?" The words came haltingly as she debated with herself, trying to decide what answer she wanted him to give. "To tell me that you'd enlisted?"
"Partly." They stood for a moment in silence, Betty expectant and Scott clearly uncomfortable.
"You could have told me that tomorrow at work. You didn't have to risk getting arrested for it." The hint of a smile played at her lips, but her hands fidgeted nervously. Why did she have the feeling that she was letting a rare opportunity slip away?
He gave a half embarrassed laugh. "I know," he acknowledged, buying time before he had to come to the real reason for his late night visit. "But I also wanted to give you something. It's private and I didn't want an audience," he added when she shook her head in confusion.
"What is it?" she asked softly, mystified by the indecision he was betraying.
"It's..." he broke off with an apologetic look, then reached behind his back to pull something secreted in the waistband of his pants. Apprehensively, he handed her a rectangular velvet box. She accepted it, smoothing her hand over the luxurious, deep red fabric. She studied it for a moment, then looked back to him questioningly.
"Open it," he instructed, his voice barely audible.
She did so, then gasped at the string of lustrous pearls nestled in a bed of creamy satin. "Scott..." her eyes sought his again and he felt her unspoken question.
"They were my mother's," he explained, his voice dark and husky. "See, Dad gave them to her when he went to fight in the last war. For as long as he was gone, I never saw her without them. When he came home at the end of the war without so much as a scratch, they both said that the necklace was lucky. Without it, well, who knows what might have happened?" He smiled at the memory, remembering how the necklace and good fortune had always been inseparable for him since that day. He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable again. "Anyway, I want you to keep it for me while I'm gone."
The protest came quickly. "Scott, I couldn't. Shouldn't a relative keep it? Your Aunt Agatha..."
He waved away the suggestion. "I'd have to mail it to her and I hate the idea of that. Besides, she might think it was sappy. She's not sentimental," embarrassed again, his voice trailed off.
"You are," Betty returned with a warm smile, the observation unaccountably pleasing her.
A denial leapt to his lips, the male instinct to preserve emotions in a strictly private realm battling with the truth. He took one look at her eyes shining at him and knew he didn't have a chance. "Yeah, I guess so. Will you keep them for me?"
The desire to help him, to soothe some of the pain of his departure was strong. But still she hesitated, sensing somehow that her acceptance of the necklace, however temporary her possession might be, would bind them irrevocably together. The pearls were so close to his heart, so intimate, that she knew the request was not made lightly and that she should not accept their guardianship lightly.
"I don't deserve this," she faltered.
"Betty, the way I see it, you're the only one who does," he insisted.
She thought of all the times she'd snubbed him, all the times she'd disapproved of him, all the times she'd argued with him, remonstrated with him and tried to foil his pet schemes, and couldn't see how he could possibly have such a good opinion of her.
Scott saw all that in her face and knew why she was torn. He knew he'd have to make her see the other side of things to begin to dissolve the barrier between them. "You kept my secrets when you had to, saved my tail more times than I can count and went along with some of my schemes when I had no right to ask it of you. You helped me find an honest life when I needed it most and I don't know anyone else who's done as much for me. I know you'll keep these safe for me until I come back. If I don't come back, there's no one else I'd rather have keep them forever." His eyes met hers, searching for acquiescence.
"I'd be honored, Scott." Her voice was low and she swallowed to clear her throat when emotion threatened to overwhelm her. "Thank you for thinking of me. I don't think anyone has ever trusted me with anything quite so precious."
Silence covered them for a moment and a sweet tension hummed in the air between them as they both smiled, their understanding of each other perfect. Betty clasped the small box to her chest, holding it delicately as if it would break in her grasp.
"I should go," Scott said, reluctantly breaking the spell, "before the police come to take me away. I'll see you tomorrow," he turned to the door, reaching out for the knob. His last words were inadequate and miles away from what he really wanted to say. To wait any longer would be intolerable and with time as short as it was, this may be his last chance. Abruptly, he turned to face her again. "What is it about you and me that keeps us apart?" he demanded suddenly.
Startled, Betty shook her head helplessly, thoroughly unprepared for the swift change of topic.
"Because whatever it is, I would change it in a heartbeat. I would change in a heartbeat," he vowed, advancing closer to her again.
"Scott, I don't want you to change. I...I think you're wonderful," she admitted, a blush stealing across her cheeks.
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Really? I thought if you'd have to describe me in one word, it would be 'exasperating'."
She favored him with a wry smile. "Let's just call that part of your charm."
"I mean it, Betty," his hands found their way to her arms again, trapping her. "No easy way out this time. You know how I feel about you. I wouldn't be here otherwise. I need to know if there's something about me that makes the idea of us impossible."
For a moment, the intensity in his eyes held her immobile and she felt herself slipping over a precarious edge. She closed her eyes, looking for calm, and when she opened them he was surprised to find tears shining there.
"Scott." His name came out sounding choked and she blinked, a tear spilling over to her cheek. How could she explain that it was a deficiency in her, not him, that kept them apart? If she confessed everything to him, she'd be vulnerable, at his mercy and that was the step she'd never been willing to take. As she stood there, she realized that so far, he had taken all the risks. He had declared his love for her, he had entrusted his most treasured possession to her, he had made himself vulnerable to her, trusting her, and she had given him nothing in return, no reason to have faith in her.
"Scott, it's me," she said, his own vulnerability having made her strong. "I've always done exactly what was expected of me, letting my mind lead me in whatever direction was right. I didn't trust my heart. I thought only silly heroines in romantic novels did that," she smiled ruefully. "I've always been so caught up in what I should do, who I should love. You don't fit in with any of that. I've tried so hard for so long to stay in control of my emotions so I'd be safe and with you I never would be."
His head jerked back as if she'd slapped him and he stared at her in wordless disbelief.
"But it doesn't matter, Scott," she was saying in the next moment, her hands suddenly going to his chest. "Because what I feel for you, what we have between us, is so strong that I know I can't control it. And if I can't control it then I'm afraid I'll be lost. That scares me; you scare me."
"Betty, do you think I'm not scared?" Scott asked, cautiously tamping down a resilient flare of hope. "I'm terrified."
"Terrified? You?" A delicate shiver worked it's way down her body. She was nervous, excited, and exhilarated all at once, freed by the confession of her most closely guarded feelings.
He nodded, understanding her agitation. Wanting by turns to soothe her and to keep her unsettled enough to continue the conversation, he decided he should continue with a confession of his own. "Every day I wake up terrified that you don't love me. Or even worse, terrified that you do love me, but I'll do something to ruin it. I don't think I could live with that."
Her hands smoothed over his chest again and she met his eyes with a challenge. "Scott, you could never do anything that would make me stop loving you. I..." Her head moved vaguely from side to side.
Scott blinked several times before he could speak. "Did you hear what you just said?" he asked carefully.
Wordlessly, she nodded, the whole scene suddenly tinged with unreality.
"Now's your chance, Betty," Scott said, his voice rough. "If you didn't mean it, take it back. It's the only chance I'll ever give you to do that." Intently, he peered into her face, desperate for an answer.
She stared at him blankly, almost as if she could see through him, trying to formulate the words that should come so easily to a writer. They weren't enough. No words could hold what she felt at that moment. Her hands twisted into the lapels of his jacket, her feet lifted her onto her toes and her lips met his, showing him everything for which words were inadequate. For a moment, Scott was so stunned that he nearly couldn't respond, then he gave in with a low moan of surrender, angling his head to deepen the kiss.
Betty responded by pressing closer, her hands slipping from his jacket to curl around his neck, her fingers exploring his hair. His arm circled her waist, drawing her against him while his other hand reached up to caress her cheek before moving to cradle her head. Delicately, his tongue teased her lips, urging her to do the same and she complied without hesitation, a slave, for once, to her emotions.
Scott reveled in the long-awaited fulfillment of having her body tight against his, the thin silky fabric of her nightgown the perfect conduit to heighten the sensation. He bemoaned his own heavy wool clothing, then caught himself short when he eyed the narrow bed in the corner speculatively. This had to stop before he got them both in way over their heads.
"Betty," he murmured, his voice sounding strange. Tenderly, he took her face in his hands and pushed her just slightly away from him, hoping the distance would clear his muddled thinking. Confusion and desire warred in her eyes and every ounce of Scott's willpower was expended in keeping her at a safe distance. Her lips were rosy and swollen and he couldn't resist the urge to rub his thumb delicately along them. She sighed when he did so and he pulled her against him, holding her tightly in his arms, nestling her head under his chin. "I guess this means you're not going to take it back."
She could hear the smile in his voice. "It might seem a little hypocritical if I did that now." She craned her neck to grin up at him since he seemed unwilling, or unable, to loosen his hold on her. "I love you, Scott Sherwood, and I always will."
Scott was sure his heart stopped beating for a moment. "You don't know how I love hearing you say that," he breathed just before he bent to kiss her again. He broke away a minute later, knowing he'd reached the end of his control. "You need to go to bed." Without me, he added as a silent reminder to himself. He drew a shaky breath before he could speak again. "And I have to get out of here, before we both get into trouble."
Giving in to an irresistible urge, he swiftly kissed her, then headed for the door. He stopped himself once again before he opened it, turning to grin at her. "Can I see you tomorrow?"
"Isn't that a foregone conclusion? How can we avoid each other somewhere as small as WENN?" she laughed.
A hint of seriousness came into his expression. "We've been doing that for almost two years. But I was thinking more along the lines of taking you to work, taking you to lunch, taking you to dinner and after dinner..." he shrugged.
"I'd court martial you if you didn't," Betty returned pointedly.
Scott grinned and the world suddenly seemed bathed in a glorious light. He opened the door and was almost outside when he faced her again. "And you'll keep the pearls for me?" he asked, all traces of his earlier apprehension gone.
"Of course," she promised softly as he closed the door, "anything that keeps you safe."
The End
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