This is just something that randomly came into life in my head, and I thought it could not hurt to write it down. In this short one-shot, Blanche has a bad dream and later, as Jane comes in to check on her, she ponders about the decisions she's made in her life. This takes place about a year after the Hudson sisters' accident. Once again, I've used the movie appearances of the characters, meaning a blonde Jane and a brunette Blanche. And I have also used a character from the book with whom the movie fans are not familiar—William "Bill" Carroll, a dear friend and co-star of Blanche's.

I hope you enjoy this little story, and please leave a review if you do! :)

Blanche's eyes travelled from his extended hand to the handsome young actor's face. His lips were smiling and his eyes were giving her a kind and encouraging look. She could sense people standing around them, staring at them, but she couldn't bring herself to look away. She was mesmerized by his look and by the long forgotten warmth she could feel in the lower part of her body.

"Come on, Blanche," Bill Carroll was saying invitingly. "I told you you could always walk with me. Remember?"

Blanche gave a weak smile and latched on to his hand confidently. She could see from the corner of her eyes that the reporters all around them were ready to get those photo cameras of theirs into use any second. They were an inevitable part of their life; they always would be. Blanche slid her legs down to touch the ground. It felt so natural she didn't even realize its meaning right away. Tightening her grip on Bill's hand, Blanche took a deep breath and pushed herself up from the wheel chair.

Cameras started flashing around them as Blanche looked around herself for the first time in a long while from so high up. The ground was so far; she was taller than she'd remembered. Bill slid his hand onto her back and pulled her into a loving embrace. Blanche had never had a better friend than Bill, and if even this disability of hers hadn't driven him away, she was positive nothing ever could.

Blanche smiled up at him once he'd released her, her famous snooty eyes that not so many people got to see from so little a distance glimmering with happy tears. There was that lovely pressure of a feeling in her legs and in her low-heeled feet that she'd missed to such an awfully great extent she felt like she could actually burst into song right then and there. There was that wonderful feeling of security, feeling the solid ground under her feet and not having to fear that horrible inability and helplessness she'd harboured whilst sitting stiffly in that chair day after day.

With a sudden surge of inbred and remembered loftiness, Blanche turned around and beamed at all the reporters and the fans beyond them. In her new-found vanity, she couldn't resist waving at one of the cameras that immediately rushed into action to capture the famed movie star twirling on the spot to show off her slender legs that were oh so full of life once again. Blanche Hudson laughed lightly and turned to face her friend again.

But he was nowhere to be seen anymore. "Bill?" Blanche called, looking around in confusion. It was as if he'd vanished into thin air. The circle of reporters were starting to close in on her and suddenly Blanche wished for nothing more than to be out of sight once again. The flashes and the excited buzz of all the fans were quite frankly making her head spin. "Bill! Where's Bill?"

And then just as fast as Bill had disappeared, Blanche saw another familiar face emerge from the crowd. It was her father, red-faced and furious, standing at the frontline of the group of reporters nearest to her, his hand raised in a raging threat. "What are you trying to do?!" he was shouting.

Blanche withdrew in an instant reaction of fright and stepped backwards, her heels coming into contact with her wheel chair again. Her mother's voice reached her from somewhere far behind her, "You're the lucky one, Blanche..." The young actress turned, searching the crowd with her eyes for the one and only person who had ever cared for her as a child, but a veil of sorrow clouded them when she found no one.

Suddenly, a rough and merciless hand grabbed her painfully by the arm, and, turning her, threw her back into the chair with livid vigour. Blanche looked up in scare and recognized immediately the blonde unkempt curls and big blue eyes, the latter of which at this moment were glaring at her with senseless rage. "Jane..." Blanche muttered feebly, her voice coming to her belatedly.

"You've always hated me!" Jane barked at her venomously, her piercing eyes digging deep into Blanche's innocent baby blue orbs. Ignoring her sister's denying shaking of the head, Jane called over her shoulder, "Bring the car 'round, boys!"

Somehow Blanche managed to tear her eyes away from her sister's spiteful face, and she noticed in equal relief and alarm that all the reporters had gone. In their place, right behind Jane, the fateful gate was looming.

Blanche shook her head now in complete terror. "No, Jane!" she pleaded desperately with her sister who had started to cackle maniacally. "Please don't make me do this to you again. Jane!"

"Please!"

Blanche's head shot up from the pillows only to fall back onto them once the original fear had left her. It had all been a dream, all of it. In a fleeting moment of hope, Blanche tried to gather all her strength into her lower body just to move an inch. She held her breath for this moment. Miracles did happen sometimes. Just not to the Hudsons. Not to Blanche Hudson anyway. She let out a disappointed sigh as she slumped back into the pillows.

She was just about to try and fall asleep again when the hurried, familiar footsteps that approached her door in the gallery broke the still silence of the night. Blanche turned her head to look at her sister as she yanked the door open and neared the bed. Blanche recognized the attentive and caring front her little sister had tried so hard to cling on to this last difficult year, as she stepped into the ring of light provided by Blanche's bedside lamp.

"Blanche," she said quietly, although she could see her older sister's open eyes. "Are you okay?" she asked with keen interest, reaching out to touch Blanche's hand that lay on top of the blanket covering her. She looked ever so concerned and loving, so different from the Jane she had just seen in her dream, that it completely astounded Blanche.

She looked up at her sister's young and pretty face, and smiled reassuringly. "I'm fine," she replied in a warm tone. "I just had a bad dream. But thank you for caring." She gave Jane's hand a gentle squeeze.

Jane's concerned expression became one of calm contentment. "That's good then," she whispered, her eyes travelling to their entwined fingers.

There was a beat of silence and Blanche found herself thinking that in this little light Jane looked so much more beautiful than in broad daylight. This way there was no way of knowing if she was drunk or vindictive. At night there was no pretence in her. She was just her loving little sister. Blanche prayed morning would never come.

"What was it about?" Jane asked quietly without looking at her sister. "The dream." She must have had a hunch what Blanche was going to say, as she lowered her voice further.

Blanche was not really a liar. She had only lied once in her life, and she had regretted it every moment of every day thereafter. But she couldn't bring herself to tell her sister the whole story. "The accident," she replied carefully, watching Jane closely. She could feel the pressure on her hand grow stronger and see the young woman start blinking her eyes rapidly. "Jane," Blanche prodded gently, but the blonde didn't break her staring contest with their hands. "Jane, I don't blame you," Blanche forced the words over her lips, although all she wanted to say right now—and had wanted to ever since that fateful night—was that she'd lied to her about the accident. "I forgave you a long time ago," she continued, nearly starting to believe in the hushed words herself. "You must stop thinking such guilty thoughts. I can see them in your eyes. Please, don't let this situation ruin the rest of your life."

Blanche felt a terrible sting in her own consciousness. Hadn't that been just what she'd wanted when she'd agreed with everyone's supposed story of Jane trying to run her down? Hadn't she been so sure of the contentment she would feel at seeing her sister's guilt-ridden face and having the right to order her around for the rest of their lives? She didn't feel it. Instead she felt every bit as guilty as she was sure Jane must have been feeling as well. If only she had told the truth right away! Blanche hated herself every day for her cowardice and for her malice towards Jane.

The latter now turned her head in her sister's direction, and Blanche could see the tears on her pale cheeks. "How can you be so good to me?" she sobbed. Stepping forward, Jane bowed over her sister's lying form and wrapped her arms tightly around her shoulders. "You're always so good to me."

Blanche could smell it now—Jane was not as drunk as she had feared she'd be. She responded to the embrace instantly, although in her heart she didn't feel fit to. She didn't deserve her sister's adoration, never mind how rarely Jane expressed it. But she was trapped. She could never tell Jane the truth. Jane wouldn't believe her, and what's more she probably wouldn't understand her—not her motive nor her regret afterwards.

Her fingers caressing the soft and messy blonde curls of her sister's, Blanche wondered if their life could ever improve, if she could ever break free of her nightmares and guilt, and Jane of her poor habits and manners, if they could ever be happy.

"You're so good, Blanche," Jane muttered feebly into her sister's dark tresses.

The End