*~*The Locket*~*
This story is another fanfic challenge that I received. The idea came from Janet. I will post that idea with a future part.
This story is very AU by her request. It's very far from the show's premise for reasons that will become clear soon. It includes some original characters to in key parts.
I disclaim as usual. Any original characters are my creation, possibly based on the show.
Rating: (M for possible future scenes, for now it's mostly T though)
Ally made me an amazing, beautiful banner for this story that you're welcome to see at my homepage. I just request that you read the story in order before looking at the banner. It's a bit spoilerish so it's not revealed until after the first few parts.
This is an NH story, but for now it may not feel totally like one. Please give it time, NH are on the way.
And for now…let's travel backward in time. It's the fall of 1923. A woman enters an antique shop in a small town in Maryland…
*~*Part I…The Find*~*
"Can I help you Miss?"
She heard the voice as she walked into the small antique store, the door letting off a ringing of bells as it opened and closed. She didn't answer right away, starting her search simply. She doubted it would turn up anything. Every time it was the same.
Six years now and…nothing.
Seeing the man shuffling around impatiently, she finally answered him. "No thank you, I'm fine for the moment."
She perused the store, seeing an old quilt on a white peeling painted rocking chair, a drum from the Civil War era probably, the outside canvas of it displaying an actual bullet hole. On a shelf there was a floral decorated pitcher and basin, 1880's it looked like.
She continued to walk around, away from the glass case that stood at the front. She didn't want to go there too soon. That man kept just standing there anyway. She wished he would go and help someone or maybe straighten up a shelf somewhere.
"Sir, may I see that doll please?"
Ah, perfect. She watched as finally the man left his counter, to go help a woman look at a doll in a gingham dress.
Walking quickly, but unassumingly, she headed for the glass case. She searched it. There were many pieces there, but not really-
"Ah, fine gold work we have. Very fine."
Great, he was back. Couldn't that woman have needed his help for longer?
"Take this piece, see how thick the chain is."
She nodded her head, not at all taken in. She wanted to look alone, but she supposed she would have to deal with him. "Yes, it's very nice."
"Fine piece this one. And see that price? That's a bargain."
She nearly rolled her eyes at his obvious salesman tactics. It wasn't that great.
"And how about this one? This cameo would look splendid with what you're wearing."
She shook her head, trying to be polite. The man was annoying her though. It got terrible bothersome to keep doing this. Store after store, antique stores, pawn shops, even estate sales, and to keep coming up with absolutely nothing.
She idly watched a little girl move over to a bargain bin. Antique bargain bin, ha. The little girl leafed through a bunch of things, pieces of cloth, an old china doll with a dress dirtied, a wooden horse with a broken leg…
Junk indeed.
She sighed, thinking she might as well just leave, wouldn't find anything here. She had made her decision to depart when the man interrupted her thoughts again.
"Now take this brooch…see that fine pearl in the middle, very nice piece this one…rich. I will sell it to you for a deal of a price. Yes, I will combine it with this neck-
She wasn't paying attention. The little girl's upturning of the bargain bin had started to bring an old picture frame, stand broken, to the top, and a shiny piece shaped like a-
"Yes, I'll sell the two of them to you together for-
"Excuse me." She approached the little girl right now. "Are you going to buy that?"
The little girl, who had been told many times not to talk to strangers, but barely ever listened, stuck out her tongue. "Maybe, and if I do it's none of your business."
She raised her eyebrows at that. Whoever Mother and Father were, they needed to figure out how to better discipline this child.
"Mary Sue! I have told you a thousand times never to talk to strangers! Now put that down!"
"But I like this Mother…it's pretty!"
"That thing…it's a piece of junk! Put it down. We're going now! Come on!" The woman glared at her like she had tried to kidnap the little girl, uh, Mary Sue, and flung the shiny piece back into the bin.
"Oh now Miss…that's just the junk. You won't need any of that. Come…I have a good deal for you here."
She stared at it for what seemed like forever, just stared. It couldn't be. It couldn't. In a junk pile?
She raised it out of the bin with shaking fingers, remembering the directions she had been given about it. She knew she would have to check the back…to see if it was there.
"Miss…"
She started to turn it over, closing her eyes as she did so. It couldn't be. It couldn't be this easy. Easy? It had taken her six years to find it, if this was it, state after state, town after town. Store after store. Business after business.
If this was it…
She turned it over and saw…
One burn mark marring the back bottom part of it. A nearly indistinguishable dent up in the corner.
OH GOODNESS…
She reached for the opening. It was weak. The chain looked like it had been fixed…
"Miss…Miss…"
"I'll take this." She closed it up, lifted it in her hands gently and brought it to the counter. "I'll take this…right now. How much? It was in the bargain bin."
The store owner scrutinized her sharply, before he gave her his price.
She opened her mouth in shock at the ridiculous sum. "Surely it can't be that much! It was in the bargain bin!" Money swindler, he must have seen her attachment to it.
"That was a mistake. This fine piece…Victorian era I believe it is…late Victorian era."
She frowned. "More like mid. Fine…I'll take it."
"I can add in another piece and give you a discount."
"No thank you."
"But we have-
"SIR I said, no thank you. I will take just this piece."
"We accept only cash."
She frowned. This was more like being in a pawn shop than an antique one. The man was a total crook. But there was no way she was letting it go.
"Fine…will this suffice?"
She nearly laughed as the man ogled the large bills she put in front of his face.
"Shall I wrap it? Will it be a gift? We have a good discount on-
She cut him off, waving her hand in dismissal. "No thank you. No wrapping needed."
"But surely with the Christmas season com-
"Sir, it is not a gift." More a return.
"Very well then."
She watched as the man took her money and then gave her a bag with it inside it. She looked at him for a moment, smiling courteously, but shortly. "Thank you."
"Yes…yes come back and-
She didn't hear what he said. She had already let the door close, the ringing bells that hung on it jingling with the motion. Walking down the walkway in front of the store, past the parked Newest Ford models, past the gentlemen and ladies enjoying their lunch time, she came to a corner. Looking around suspiciously…she finally opened the bag.
Her eyes closed as she held the object in her hand. She found it. She found it!
Looking around again, she lifted her head a little, whispering,
"I got it Mama…I got it...I promised you I would." A tear fell down her face. "Now I just have to find… Them..."
*~*The Locket*~*
This is part II. The third part will have the full details of Janet's idea.
*~*One Year Later, An office building in a town in North Carolina*~*
*~*Part II…The Return*~*
She stopped nervously outside the door, just staring. What if it was another failure? What if? Ah…what if…what if! Enough Chelsea! Just go in there and deal with it. She fixed her dress, making sure it was proper enough for the current circumstance. Sure, flapper girl was the style these days, but not exactly what you wore for this type of thing. Of course…this type of thing really wasn't going to be this type of thing because it was another thing that really had nothing to do with this type of thin-
Ahhh! Blabbing to herself in her mind. Enough, enough enough. She straightened the skirt part of her dark navy blue dress and opened the door to the office. She was greeted by the sound of a typewriter, the keys noisily moving along, ended all by a dinging bell, ding, ding, ding. She walked forward, being careful not to trip in her new heels. Heels…new heels. Had to buy new heels for this, right Chelsea? Had to come all properly prepared even though you may end up being here no longer than a few moments before the gentleman throws you out.
"Can I help you Ma'am?"
Chelsea looked up from her perusal of her shiny new black shoes, heels, to see the lady who had busily been typing at that typewriter, now sitting there calmly, not typing, with a questioning, and yet helpful expression on her face. She cleared her throat, speaking to the past middle aged woman. "Um…oh…excuse me. Yes, my name is Chelsea Rider. I'm here to see…um Mr. Scott about the interview. The um…the job interview. The one he was advertising in the paper." Okay, now just stop. If you babble anymore this woman will tell him you can barely even communicate a single word without stuttering and he'll make up some excuse to not see you, a clever one of course, and then you'll not meet the gentleman and you'll have to look elsewhere…
"Oh yes…you must be his 10:30…"
Chelsea moved back a blonde tress from her face, her hair still not in the revered short flapper style that was all the rage now in the big city of Manhattan that she lived in. She just refused to cut her hair that short. To the chin…please! Of course, here it didn't matter as much she supposed, here in the south where things were not quite as advanced, for most, as up north. Sure, the Civil War had been over for many years, but that stigma, some believed, could remain forever, that hidden stigma. Still, the town, though a bit small, seemed to be nicely advancing. And it was definitely pretty, shaded with big beautiful trees even in some of the more town-like areas. It was a nice respite from a big city like Manhattan. And those shading trees were something very much in need. It could get so hot here.
"Right there Miss Rider."
Chelsea ended her long thought pattern and looked at the woman who was now just staring at her questioningly…like she was waiting. With her hair in a bun, the woman definitely did not have that new flapper style look.
"Excuse me?" Chelsea asked, now totally broken out of her reverie and just mildly confused. Had the woman said something to her before…something she missed?
The woman smiled. "I said Miss Rider, will you please have a seat over there? I will let Mr. Scott know you are here, and I'm sure he will be with you shortly. Please feel free to peruse one of the magazines as you are waiting."
Chelsea nodded her head, feeling like a total ding dong. She started to back up, and then realizing she was acting even more like a ding dong, properly started to make her way to the cushioned seats. "Oh yes…of course. No rush at all."
The woman nodded her head with a lift of one eyebrow, but then left the room. Chelsea cringed. What is wrong with you? You handle stories for the newspaper all the time in Manhattan, undercover stories, everything. Why can't you handle this?
She took it out discreetly, staring at it for a moment, before covertly putting it away again.
Oh yes…that's why.
I*~*I
The woman walked into the back office, his office, spacious mostly and yet cluttered in some areas and way too sparse in others. Noticing that he was busy writing something, she waited.
Feeling her presence, knowing she was waiting for him to acknowledge her, a slight smirk came to his face. Mrs. Nealson was one of the best secretaries he ever had. She was punctual, cordial, and a magnificent typist. But goodness sakes, would she ever learn to interrupt him? It was okay. He didn't mind. Yes…yes, many bosses minded, but he didn't. Interrupt him. Once she had waited so long that the phone had rang in the outer office five times before he noticed her standing there. Okay, maybe that was his fault. He was constantly working on something, work, work, work.
Not that he didn't enjoy his work. He did. He gazed fondly at something behind his desk before he finally directed his attention to Mrs. Nealson.
"Yes Mrs. Nealson?"
"Your 10:30 appointment is here Mr. Scott."
He looked at her questioningly, deep lines on his forehead forming.
"My 10:30…uh…?"
Mrs. Nealson smiled. He was so busy all the time. He tended to forget his appointment schedule easily.
"Yes Mr. Scott, for the job interview…the one for the new file clerk."
He slapped a hand down on his desk with sudden recognition. "Ah yes…that appointment. Oh good. And the name?"
"Her name is Chelsea Rider, sir."
He smiled, liking the name right away. That was good…right…liking the name? Yes, he supposed so. "Ah…send her in please Mrs. Nealson." He got up, fixing his suit jacket.
"Now sir?"
No, in an hour so we bore the poor woman. Oh Mrs. Nealson… "Yes, please, now."
"Very well sir."
Sir…sir…Mrs. Nealson, call me by my name…oh no that is not proper Mr. Scott…but Mrs. Nealson…no no…fine. It had made him decisive in calling her by her last name too. Thought that might make her a bit uncomfortable. Oh no…not Mrs. Proper Nealson.
Chelsea nervously walked into the office, trying to look like she wasn't nervous at all. She got ready to meet another balding man, or one with whiskers hanging down his face, but this man…oh there were no whiskers here. She stared for a moment before she chastised herself. Enough.
And then she suddenly realized the man seemed deep in thought too. Hmmm…interesting, not at all focused on her. She searched his features for a moment. He was tall and slender, though had some noticeable upper build. His hair was cut short mostly to his face, sideburns hanging down not too low. It was mostly dark brown, but mixed in were specks of what looked like cinnamon. All that didn't stay with her that long though. What got to her right away were the eyes, amazing clear blue eyes that were now sharply looking at her. She blushed.
He saw her blush and realized suddenly he was improperly staring. He shook his head and politely extended his hand to her. "Miss Rider…I'm Mr. Scott…Halen Scott."
Chelsea forced her hand to come out, feeling him grasp it in his much bigger one, with firmness. She liked that, when a man's hand was firm, but not over-grasping. His was firm, but definitely not over-grasping, almost gentle in a way. She felt a rush of color hit her face again and looked away for one tiny moment before finally answering him. "It's very nice to meet you Mr. Scott. Please…call me Chelsea…it's my name. You can call me that…if you'd like anyway."
Halen searched the woman's face for a moment before his eyes perused down a bit lower, before he moved his eyes back up. This was an interview Halen, not a proposition. Damn the sometimes stupid wild time of the 20's making people act in that oh so 'scandalous' way. Okay, he usually laughed at that term, but right now…well…
In his perusal, he had noticed her hair, blonde and curled on the ends, not short to the chin like quite a few women annoyingly wore now, but closer to her shoulders, adorning it. The curls were pulled back in a large barrette, keeping her hair mostly away from her face, though it still flattered her. The tresses went well with her green emerald-like eyes. And in her hand was a folder of some sorts.
Folder. She's here for a job interview, remember Halen?
He saw the woman blush and inwardly scoffed at how forward this woman probably thought he was being. No wonder she blushed. "Please Miss Rider, sit down." He gestured for her to sit in a black chair that sat across from his desk. He sat down slowly too in his own, noticing the small lift of her proper navy blue skirted dress. Nice legs.Okay…okay…just stop now. You're acting like a high school teenager. You're 34 years old for God's sake. Never been married. Never wanted to be married. Well not yet anyway. When you grew up with the perfection of love, you spent time seeking the same for yourself. So far…hadn't found it.
And so far this interview he was supposed to be conducting was going splendidly horrible.
"Halen…that's a very original name." Okay Chelsea, you were supposed to say that after a few job related sentences. Not right at the beginning. Bing bang. Here I go…getting all personal. Gracious. She put her head down, feeling incredibly foolish.
Halen saw what looked like a bit of nervousness on the woman's face, the sentence coming from her mouth surprising him a bit, but he took it as he had probably made her so anxious she would blurt out anything. That's what you got for staring too long at your interviewee. "Yes I suppose it is. It came from my mother's name."
"And what would that name be?" Shut up! What was that? What would that name be? Gosh! Chelsea held on tightly to her purse, running her hand nervously over the black leather, over a pocketed area that held it.
Halen looked at the woman curiously now, his eyebrows raised. She was definitely inquisitive...and outspoken a bit.
Chelsea shook her head, her blonde curls moving a bit at her shoulders. "I'm so sorry. That was rude of me. I'm being rude. I'm very sorry Mr. Sco-
She stopped as suddenly she felt his hand come over hers to cease her babbling. She shivered at that hand before she pulled away. Okay, but it wasn't a bad shiver. That was a good shiver…a kind of trembling fun little shiver. OH stop. This is an interview, but you're not here for that. Yes…but you're also not here for that. She turned to look out the window, noticing a new make of the T Model Ford, so popular now.
"Haley…my mother's name that is."
Chelsea focused back on his face at his sudden unexpected answer, seeing those oh so gorgeous blue eyes looking right into hers. Okay…whoa…Chelsea, you are a dignified 29 year old woman who lives in the cream of the crop, Manhattan. There is no reason for your insides to turn to jelly as this very good looking man stares at you. He's not staring…wait…wait. Haley. Haley?
"Would you like to know my father's name too?"
She looked up to see a slight smile on his face, more a smirk. She looked down from it and then heard him laugh. She felt herself laughing slightly too. "Oh my gosh…I'm so sorry. You must think I'm a nut! No…your father's name is your business. Oh dear."
He liked the sound of her laughter. It was rich, and had bits of lyrical quality…reminding him of the laughter of someone he loved dearly. He bit down on his bottom lip slightly. "It's all right. Why don't we start this again? I'm Halen Scott. And you're…"
Chelsea smiled, feeling a warmth creep through her nervousness. His smile was delightful. "I'm Chelsea Rider."
Halen smiled a little more, before letting her hand go, for the second time. Had to shake that hand again, right Halen? Learned from the best. "It's very nice to meet you Miss Rider. Now…why don't we begin with the interview? Tell me your experience in file clerking."
"Uh…" Chelsea started to relate her fake experience, hoping it sounded real enough. It seemed to.
They kept going like that, him asking her professional questions now, and she answering them. And it seemed to be going very well until he suddenly came to the one he was asking her now.
"Uh…excuse me?"
Halen watched Chelsea sharply now. She had answered every question with a well found knowledge of the task. But something…something just…
He had inherited from his parents, his mother notably, a keen eye for knowing when someone was not being completely forthcoming. And of course the paper just happened to be sitting on his mess of a desk, a paper that just five minutes ago he had noticed was marked with a name that went hand in hand with the woman sitting across from him. "I said…when did you decide to give up headline stories in of all places New York City for…file clerking in a small town in North Carolina?"
Chelsea started to protest, but then stopped as the paper was put down in front of her. She looked at the headline, the name of the writer, "By Chelsea Rider" Idiot. You shouldn't have used your own name. You never use your own name. Why did you use your own name now? Because she wanted to hear it from his lips. OH stop! You had no idea who he would be, what he would be like before this interview. You blew it. You should have used one of your pseudo names. Well how was I supposed to know the man read papers from New York? Everyonereads New York papers, especiallyThe New York Times, geesh.
She tried to make something up but saw that with his sharp look he probably wouldn't buy it.
"So care to tell me what this is about Miss Rider? I don't like being played for a fool. I'd like a reason for your visit before I ask Mrs. Nealson to extricate you from my office."
Chelsea grimaced now, seeing the tightness and total departure of friendliness, or cordiality even, from his face. She turned away, looking up for a moment at the picture that hung over his desk. "Nathan…is it Nathan? Your father's name?"
Halen's look grew sharper and more serious. He turned to where Chelsea was looking and then spoke in a firmer and direct voice. He wanted to get to the bottom of this right now. "Why are you here Miss Rider?"
She got ready to give another story, but seeing his hard edged determination in finding the truth, and realizing now what she had known inside from the first moment she met this man, she slowly reached into her purse.
Halen watched the woman's movements carefully, before he let out a gasp at what came out of the purse, clenched in one of her hands, the chain falling over her wrist. He grabbed at that wrist, feeling the chain against his skin. It felt warm…full of life. "Where did you get this?"
She saw the demanding that followed the shock in his face, and knew it now. He was the one. Well…he was the one to lead her to them anyway…hopefully.
She gently moved his hand away from hers, pulling back slightly. "My Mama…excuse me…my mother…"
Halen felt a pang at her first term for her mother. Mama…
"…gave it to me…before she died. She took ill several years ago."
His face blank mostly, Halen spoke softly. "I'm sorry."
Chelsea looked up at him for a moment, hearing his voice…ever so gentle. She went on. "She told me to find the person to whom it belonged…the persons. She said that she saw them only once, but one thing was clear right away. It transfixed her."
Halen looked away for a moment, thoughts now swimming through his mind. "Their love."
Chelsea nodded her head, seeing passion in the man's profile. All the hints of smirking were gone. "They were…your parents?"
Halen looked down at the object in the woman's hand, felt her let it loosen a little in her grip. Quietly, slowly, he lifted it into his own. He closed his eyes for a second, whispering. "Yes…they are. My father has searched for this for years…to give it back to her."
"Then they're still ali-
He cut her off suddenly, pointing at her with the object still in his hand. "What do you want for it? I'm sure you came here for some monetary-
She shook her head quickly, her expression a bit pained. "No…no. I came to give it back. I just…I've searched and searched for them and now…finally. I guess I've found them. You'll give it to them?"
Halen looked off distantly, nodding his head, before his sharp blue eyes focused on her emerald green ones again. "Yes…but there must be something else? Come on now."
Chelsea got ready to turn away, to walk away, and forget the object she had returned to him, but then she remembered her mother's last words. "She searched for them, for years, my mother. She couldn't find them. She tried and tried. She told me about it…about them. I told her I would find it…them."
Halen searched her face intensely. "How did you find it? My father's never been successful…try after try…place after place."
Chelsea shook her head before going on. "It wasn't easy. It took me seven years really…six to find it. One to find you. I just kept going back and forth from Scott to Scott. It's a popular name."
"So you've been doing this interview thing for a while…this story of yours?"
She saw him give her a mischievous look. She smiled slightly. "Yes…well with variations. When I saw you though…the picture…your name…I knew I had to finally…have found the right person. Well…now I know they'll get it." Hesitating for a moment, seeing him not trying to stop her at all, Chelsea started to get up to say goodbye. She didn't want to just leave it, but-
"Where did you find it?" Halen asked her softly now, motioning for her to return her attention to him.
Chelsea debated if she should tell him the truth or not, before she decided to just give it to him straight, the way it was. "In an antique shop…in Maryland."
Halen's eyebrows rose. "Maryland…it traveled that far?"
Chelsea nodded her head. "Yes…apparently it did. It was actually in some junk heap of discount antiques. I only saw it because some bratty little girl was searching through the thing."
"Junk heap?" Halen frowned.
Chelsea watched as he held it in his hands now. She watched him turn it over in his fingers. "You know about it? The burn mark…the dent?"
Closing his eyes for a moment, before shaking himself out of his reverie and sitting up straighter, Halen simply nodded his head before answering. "Yes…I know."
Seeing him deep in thought, Chelsea decided it was best to leave. She returned it. She did what she promised her Mama. Now…
Halen stirred as he suddenly realized she was going, leaving, after finding it, after bringing it back to him…to them. He couldn't just…
"Miss Rider…"
Chelsea turned back around at his voice. She quietly smiled. "Chelsea…please…"
Halen smiled back, slightly. "Fine. Chelsea…Really, I can't…I can't just take this without…I mean there must be some way I can repay you."
Chelsea shook her head, bringing it down, before she whispered, "No just…my Mama always wished that she'd see them again. She just wanted to know more about it…about them. That's all."
Halen's expression was wistful. But he said nothing.
"Well I better go."
"Wait…Miss Rider…"
"Please…"
"Chelsea."
She didn't bother to turn around, just answered him. "Yes…Mr. Scott."
He sighed, reaching for her arm and gently turning her around. "Halen…please. I mean you brought back to me something…something I thought was lost forever…that my father…"
She saw pain cross over his face. It made her tentatively reach out a hand to him. It mingled with the chain of the locket, their fingers touching it and each other.
"He has always wanted to give this back to my mother…always…"
She felt a tear edging at the back of her eye, but she pushed it back. "Well now he can…"
He said nothing at first, before he nodded his head. "Yes."
She slowly slid her hand away from his, the link of their fingers parting. "I'm glad I could return it to you." She answered softly, before she started to go.
"There's a story that goes with it. Would…would you like to hear it…Chelsea?"
Slowly she turned back around. The tear crossed over her face. "My Mama always wanted to…to know…"
He moved over to her, gently touching her wrist, politely, not at all assumingly. "Can you come back later, this afternoon? Afterwards…I'll take you to see them."
Chelsea gasped, a smile lighting her face. "Oh I would like that…a lot…Mr…um…Halen."
"Good. Until later."
She felt him grasp her hand for a moment, the hand that was holding it in his half grip. She could feel the chain brush over her skin, warm. "Yes…later."
Halen watched her leave and then sat back down slowly in his office chair. His fingers moved over the object he delicately held now. It could be a fake. It could be a fraud.
He closed his eyes. It wasn't. It was real. Chelsea's story was too real…and even more practically, it had all the scar marks it should and yet…he could feel from it the love his parents brought. He could feel from it…
All the stories of the past…
All the stories of long ago..
The story of their love.
Their sacrifice for love.
A forbidden love.
I*~*I
More to come…
Thank you for reading. Feedback is appreciated.