Long Dark Night of the Soul
by Natasha Luepke
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Rupert Holmes. If you want to sue me, I guess you
can have one of my cats.
Dedicated to my dad and Nat
Rating: G or PG
Summary: Another possible ending to "All's Noisy on the Pittsburgh Front"
Victor and I stared at her as her eyes flicked back and forth between us. It was Victor who broke the silence.
"Betty," he said, glancing down at his watch. I half expected him to utter one of my "Oh, would you look at the time?"'s. Instead, he said, "I need to leave *now* in order to make my train." Betty only nodded. Victor went to her behind the desk, bent down as if to kiss her, but then straightened up and patted her on the shoulder.
"Good-bye, Betty," he said.
"Good-bye, Victor," was all she replied. There was a note of something in her voice that I couldn't quite place, almost, but not quite, sadness. She watched him leave the room and shut the door, looked down at her desk, and then up at me, with bright eyes and a half smile.
"Betty, are you okay?" I asked.
"Yes. Yes, I think I am," she said. "Scott, *this* would be the rest of my life. Saying 'good-bye' to Victor and anxiously waiting for him to return."
For once, I didn't know what to say.
"Scott, is there any way you can stay?"
"Ah, not using any means you'd approve of, Betty," I said. "I never figured that you'd actually want me to stay."
"Scott," she almost whispered. "I'll...I'll miss you. Be careful--don't do anything stupid." I had to smile--a Sherwood do something stupid? She went on, "And write to me. Just..." She stopped speaking and looked down. Just what? Just don't get blown up? Just don't break your heart?
"Ah, Betty, you sound so fatalistic," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "You forget, Sherwoods are made to survive. All of the scrapes I've gotten out of...this'll be a piece of cake." She looked up and gave a little smile. "Now, c'mon, can I have a smile to remember you by?" I looked at my watch and realized that now I *had* to say, "Oh, would you look at the time. I have to go..."
Betty came over to me and put her arms around me.
"Be careful," she whispered. "I lo--I'll miss you." I kissed her on the cheek and then I had to go.
And found myself returning a few hours later.
I had reached the recruitment office, but a few discrepancies had turned up in the paperwork--such as lying about my age and injuries from the Spanish Civil War. So, I was discharged, papers in my pocket to prove the legality of it.
I went back to my apartment first, trying to figure out what to do as I changed. Should I celebrate that I wouldn't have to go to war? Get drunk over the fact that I'd have to face everyone with this news, that I wasn't able to overcome Sherwood instincts and be brave and noble?
I looked at my reflection in the mirror.
"I'll go to the station," I informed myself. "I'll leave a letter for Betty. I'll explain everything and she can decide what she wants me to do."
I found a piece of paper and a pen and scribbled out a note to that effect. Then I started back to the station.
Most of the lights were off when I arrived; I was glad no one was there. I would just leave the note in the Writer's Room and go. As I walked by the Green Room, I noticed the door was open, a light was on, I thought I heard a soft noise. I wanted to leave my note and go, but I had to see what was up.
Betty was asleep on the couch, her shoes on the floor. She tossed and turned fitfully in her sleep and her lips moved soundlessly; she was obviously acting out a nightmare. When she said,
"No--Scott--no!", I was immediately by her side.
"Shh--Betty, it's okay, I'm here, it's just a dream," I said, gently shaking her.
She blinked her eyes and squinted up at me. As she sat up, I sat down beside her.
"I was having that nightmare again," she explained.
"*Again*?" I asked?
"Yes...Scott, aren't you supposed to be gone?"
I stood up, nervous, and went to make some coffee.
"Well...they found out I lied on a few forms," I began.
"Lied?"
"Yes. I said I was 33...I'm 35...and a half. And I lied about injuries I received in the Spanish Civil War, making me 4-F. I came back to leave you a note, so that you could decide if want be to stay or go to London."
"You can stay?"
"Yes, if you want me to."
"I want you--I mean, the station wouldn't function properly," she said, tripping over her words.
The coffee finished, I brought two cups over to the couch and sat down.
"I'll stay. Now, tell me about your nightmare."
"Well, I've had it almost every night," she said. "I haven't had a decent night's sleep in months. Some nights, I just *don't* sleep, reading instead, or just thinking in the dark." She paused to sip her coffee. "Anyway, it's almost always the same. It's back in September...the night Victor returned. And I'm already in here, Victor's and Pruitt's guns trained on each other. And you walk in...Sometimes they shoot you before you say anything, sometimes after you say 'buy barley futures,' sometimes after you say you love me. Sometimes it's Victor's gun, sometimes Pruitt--but it always ends the same." She sighed and stared into her cup.
"I have that dream, too," I said softly. She looked up at me sharply. "I don't have it every night, but most. I come in, saying that stupid phrase. And I tell you I love you, and then..." Was I going to sob?
"Then you say it, to save my life and...they shoot you. Sometimes Victor, sometimes Pruitt, but as you said, it always ends the same."
We were both silent a moment, staring into our coffee cups.
"Betty...it's been several months now, but...I need to know...why'd you do it, Betty? Why risk your life for a no-good con-man?" There, it was out in the open, a thought that'd been plaguing me since the event had occurred.
"It was the right thing to do," she answered immediately.
I stared at her.
"Scott...I didn't know it then, but I think...with Victor leaving me again...I'm not sure of much these days...my family would be shocked...I love you," she said. She smiled up at me, almost laughing.
I stared at her still, not quite able to believe what'd she just told me. I leaned closer to her and put my arm around her shoulder.
"So the perfect Betty Roberts succumbs to the charms of the scandalous Scott Sherwood," I whispered in her ear.
"Scott, I am too tired to think of a reply," she said, leaning back, closer to me. In a moment, she was asleep.
"Pleasant dreams," I whispered. I settled back into the couch. As I stroked her hair, I, too, fell asleep.
I had the nightmare again. I walked into the Green Room, recklessly muttering "Buy barley futures."
This time, there was only one person in the room: Betty.
"Scott, what *are* you talking about?" she asked, looking up from the table and turning to face me.
And then she smiled and then she...well, some things should remain private.
"Well, what do we have here?" It was Maple's voice.
Somehow during the night, Betty and I had shifted. I was now on my side, back to the couch. Betty was on her side, back to me. It felt so perfect, so natural.
"Oh, my," said Betty with a start. She jumped up and began straightening her clothes.
"Scotty, I've seen you in some interesting positions before, but...And what you still doing here?"
Maple said with a wink.
I stood up and stretched and then draped my arm around Betty's shoulder. For a moment, she looked as if she was going to say something or push away. Finally, she gave in and leaned against me.
"Well, Maple," I said, "it's a long story..."
The End
"Companion to our demons they will dance and we will play. With chairs candles and cloths making darkness into day" -- Sarah McLachlan, "Fumbling Towards Ecstasy"