Answer
I will be the answer
At the end of the line
I will be there for you
While you take the time
In the burning of uncertainty
I will be your solid ground
I will hold the balance
If you can't look down
If it takes my whole life
I won't break; I won't bend
It will all be worth it
Worth it in the end
Cause I can only tell you what I know
That I need you in my life
When the stars have all gone out
You'll still be burning so bright
Cast me gently
Into morning
For the night has been unkind
Take me to a
Place so holy
That I can wash this from my mind
The memory of choosing not to fight…
~ Sarah McLachlan
Philip's Malibu Study, April 1992
"I like her." Philip was telling his manager as he dropped an olive into his martini. "She's refreshing, you know?" Settling into the charcoal colored sofa with his back to his manager, Philip stretched his left arm across it as he leisurely sipped his drink and scanned the Pacific coast. "Nothing like the usual sort we have here. She's genuine." He remarked dreamily.
Rolling his eyes in disgust, Stewart sat at Philip's desk sorting through paperwork listening as the movie producer he had been in charge of for the past five years mooned over his latest potential love interest.
"For Christ's sake, Philip! Pussy's pussy." He scoffed crudely. "Besides, NO ONE's that genuine."
Stewart wheeled around placing documents and tape into the safe that was hidden by a hideous piece of over-priced artwork that Philip had acquired on his last trip to New York a few months back. Securing the painting in its place on the wall behind the desk, Stewart brusquely opened a side draw from Philip's desk and retrieved a file marked: Kimberly Brady. "I took the liberty in doing some background research for you." He revealed impatiently.
Philip abruptly abandoned his position on the sofa and wheeled around to square off with him.
"You're quite the paranoid little prick, Stu."
The movie producer set his glass purposely on the glass table and leered back at him over his right shoulder. "And?"
Stewart remained seated at the desk flipping the file open to reveal its contents.
"You picked quite a number with this one." Turning over the first picture, he passed it to Philip who leaned over to the right retrieving it. Casually surveying the picture, he ran his fingers through his blonde curly hair.
"Her brothers. Kim told me all about them…so what?"
"The one on the right is a detective for the Salem PD though MIA at the moment."
Philip tossed the picture back at Stewart. "Yeah, she's pretty upset over it. The other one is commander, or something." He waved his hand dismissively and rose to standing position. "A mid-level police department at best. Not even remotely threatening to our business," he leaned into the desk placing his fingertips on the espresso finishing and lorded over his handler. "It's not like I plan on revealing company secrets, Stu."
Thinking he had won the argument, Philip flagrantly turned around and snatched his drink off the table. Tossing his head back, he gulped down the remains of the stiff concoction. Walking to the mini-bar against the wall, he discarded the glass into the sink and retreated back towards the imposing glass window.
"Does Stefano Dimera ring any bells with you, Collier?" Stewart quizzed rhetorically and leaned back into the chair crossing his arms around his rotund body. Philip shot a menacing look towards him without answering the question. The file remained open with three siblings smiling right back at them. Pointing towards the man positioned on the left of Kimberly in the picture, "That is the man who put a major dent in his operations in America. You think that a lowly blue-collar cop has that kind of capability all on his own?"
Philip shook his head negatively; then shifted his gaze back towards the ocean with disgust. He was supposed to meet Kimberly for sushi in a little over an hour and this data dump, if you will, was placing a damper on the whole entire evening.
"So what, you're saying Roman's some sort of spook?" Philip suggested disparagingly.
"Not just any spook, numb nuts." Stewart spat back. "The ISA!"
Philip shrugged. "Never heard of'em."
Stewart leaned back in the chair, removed his glasses and wiped a smudge from them.
"They don't exactly advertise in the Yellow Pages." He noted dryly. Placing his glasses back on his face, the handler continued. "What specifically do you know about her ex-husband?"
Philip looked back at Stewart skeptically. He knew that he was being baited. Answering carefully,
"He's quite the philanthropist from what I can discern."
Stewart's brow arched intriguingly, so Philip continued, "An investor in telecommunications, I think."
Stewart slapped his knee howling in laughter. "Well that's one way of looking at it!"
Leaning forward, he searched for something in the file. Finding it, he tossed it over the desk in Philip's direction. "Guess who Roman's long time ISA contact is?"
Philip's eyes scanned the next picture, which was shot in black and white, of a clearly purposeful Englishman casting a sinister glance over his shoulder. No doubt the shot was a surveillance shot but definitely not a recent one. It certainly explained the cryptic answer he received from Kimberly when he asked how she met her children's father.
"Oh, he is an old friend of Roman's." She had noted casually and offered nothing more.
"A paralyzed spy." The arrogant man smirked. "Hardly has me shaking in my boots."
"Well no, as long as he's in that chair…" Stewart admitted before smiling sadistically. "Though get this: apparently, he's linked with her sister at the moment."
Philip's interest piqued, he raised his brow amusingly. "Well, when one tosses you out of her bed; go for the other one, I always say."
The two men chuckled as the conversation descended into a raunchy exchange. Spreading his arms far and wide, Stewart offered,
"Or, why not entice them both back in." And wagging his finger towards Philip shrewdly, "There's your money maker, right there."
Philip chuckled uncomfortably at the implication and decided to curtail the conversation. "Look, as much as I hate to spoil your fun, I have a lady waiting on me." He announced as he checked the time on his Rolex. Stewart's dead shark eyes stared straight into Philip's.
"Don't discount her supposed run-in with you to be happenstance…"
"Oh come off it, Stu!" Philip interrupted irritably. He'd listen to enough of his manager's farfetched conspiracy theories. "One thing I DO know about Kimberly is that she couldn't keep a secret to save her life!"
Tempted to burst his client's bubble regarding his new girlfriend, Stewart almost relayed the most delicious piece of information regarding 'Ms. Brady.' Instead, the shady businessman decided to withhold the information for a more profitable occasion.
"Look if our boss gets wind of this development, he's not going to be happy." Stewart cautioned as he stood up to confront Collier head on. "There's always a possibility she's been sent to poke around in our affairs."
Philip vehemently shook his head of curly locks in disagreement and began to stroll towards the door. He was done with this little meeting and waved his hand glibly at his manager. "Anxiety will kill you, Stu."
"Mark my word," Stewart warned as Philip exited the study, "This woman is going to be trouble."
Location: New York City, Present Time
A hazy, rainbow glow bathed Philip's pensive face from the city lights far below the imposing skyscraper that housed his condo. Drink in hand, the lonely man leaned against the opened doors of his penthouse balcony and inhaled deeply as the rhythmic hum of his favorite city lulled him into a dream-like state. He had just settled in for the night after a grueling Trans-Atlantic flight from Berlin that transitioned swiftly into the private office of his benefactor in mid-town Manhattan. The instant the producer received his impromptu instructions to abandon his trip to London in favor of meeting with the eccentric man; Philip understood the severity of the situation. Not even Stewart was aware of the change of plans. Despite being the one who signed Collier's checks for all these years, Philip had only met the elusive businessman once—shortly after his public announcement of his engagement to Kimberly after she'd been released from the hospital. The meeting hadn't gone very well.
Goddammit! You need to extricate yourself immediately from this predicament. His boss warned him through gritted teeth.
Despite that instruction, Philip hadn't figured out how to do just that and be able to save face once Kimberly's health had spiraled out of control. Then her ex-husband's abruptly left Salem. Since then, the successful movie producer preferred dealing with the insufferable Stewart Perkins instead of incurring the wrath of the temperamental benefactor.
The set-up had worked beautifully. With their boss satisfied that no one was peering into their affairs, the pressure ceased. Meanwhile, Philip contended with Stewart's gloating over being correct about Kimberly's considerably less that pure background. The details didn't bother him. Why, it was every man's fantasy to have "a whore in bed and June Cleaver in the morning when her feet hit the floor!" What concerned Philip was if Stewart could accurately pinpoint this, was the second accusation closer to the truth? Might she have been there to spy on their illicit activities all along? And if so, how much information had Kimberly obtained?
Until Philip could be positive, he continued the course as directed. Keeping the sordid details out of the press, the clever producer privately used Kimberly's MPD to his advantage spinning it into a human-interest story with him being the doting, supportive lover. Given how close the two had become during her murder trial and afterwards, Philip reasonably expected things to return to how they were before all the revelations of Kim's abusive past and resulting disorder came to light. Leading up to her trip to London, Kimberly seemed to be her usual attentive self— minus her rather delicious abilities in the bedroom. Thus, Philip focused on the familiar trappings of family life; a nice part he was able to play and still sample the fruits of his profession on the side out in LA.
However, two things occurred that caused the idyllic set-up to unravel. First, the last six months with Kimberly proved to be more problematic for the rising star of the Hollywood circle than the previous year before. Philip could accurately pinpoint the shift in their relationship to that fateful London trip last summer in order to retrieve the children. Whatever had transpired during that month left Kimberly demonstrably detached from Philip emotionally and squelched any possibility of physical intimacy between them? No amount of therapy was going to remedy this problem for him. Moreover, the way her son, Andrew, responded to him had changed remarkably since living with his father. The little boy had completely withdrawn from Philip's attempts to bond with him in a fatherly way. It was of little help that as the boy grew older, his uncanny resemblance to his father felt as though Captain Donovan taunted Collier on a daily basis.
Therefore, Philip was ready to make a clean break from Kimberly until Stewart relayed a startling directive to him from their boss right before they walked into Kimberly's house for Jeannie's birthday party.
"Boss wants you to get close to her ex-husband." Stewart informed him with a casual pat on the back as he sauntered over to make himself a drink. Philip cast an alarmed glance over to where the spy was chatting up with old friends before exchanging a baffled look with his manager. Stewart added cryptically; "He could be useful for us in the future…" ~ September 3, 1993.
And now, far away from her or his set, or anything that resembled a normal holiday, Philip thought of how terribly twisted things had become.
"What an unbelievable cluster-fuck!" Philip mused in disgust taking a generous gulp of whiskey. The wind, blustery now as the temperatures dropped well below freezing, possessed a familiar bite that reminded Philip of the harshness of his situation. Hidden away from the sights and sounds of prying eyes and ears, the bitter truth smacked him against the face: there was nothing in his life that was his own. The clothes, cars, boats, and all four homes were compliments of his benefactor in exchange for taking on a 'side job or two' throughout the year. Pity that the younger version of him never questioned exactly what these minor projects would entail. At the time, the struggling producer, who had become accustomed to the high life of music entertainment, could only curse his unsuspected unemployment due to the production studio going belly up. One measly decision from Philip's past set him on a course that slowly was beginning to dawn on him led only to one destination—hell.
Closing his eyes, he lifted his chin upwards and sighed loudly as the alcohol burned down his throat. His mind was spinning with the rather odd details of the meeting when the phone rang breaking his train of thought.
Christ! It's almost midnight. What the hell does he want now? The moody movie producer groused to himself as he stumbled towards the corner bureau made of mirrored glass that reflected back Philip's sour expression. His investor was the only person who knew of his whereabouts.
Snatching the phone on the third ring, he inhaled a generous sip of his liquor as he scanned the infamous New York skyline peppered in a sea of dotted lights from skyscrapers mingling against the harbor.
"Collier." He announced compliantly into the line.
"Philip. It's Shane." The familiar British accent wafted through the line as smoothly as Philip's whiskey slid down his throat. Realizing whom it was, he choked on the amber drink.
"How the hell did you… "
Suddenly, the shady movie producer was painfully aware of Donovan's many capabilities. Unnerving, it reminded Philip of his first conversation with his benefactor. Don't underestimate Donovan. The elder gentleman advised cryptically. He's a cunning bastard when he wants to be. Exhaling loudly, Philip tempered his ire towards the spy,
"What can I help you with at this late hour?" He inquired abruptly forgetting about his fiancé's condition last they spoke.
"Uh, it's Kimberly, Philip." Shane revealed coolly. "I'm at the hospital with her…"
"What?" Philip snapped out of his alcohol-induced buzz and abandoned all pretenses with his perceived nemesis. While the past year with his fiancé had been rather chaotic and unsatisfying, Philip still possessed warm feelings towards certain aspects of their arrangement. The same sinking feeling Philip had the day he found out about Kim's car accident settled into his gut.
"Philip?"
"Yes, …I'm here." Philip replied in distress. His voice grew low and soft. "Is she going to be ok?" Philip inquired hesitantly.
The transformation shocked even this seasoned spy.
"Yes, but I must confess that it's been a rough night for her." Shane revealed gravely careful to omit the part about her flashback to him. Philip was shaking his head in disbelief while talking. Immediately, he was backpedaling and explaining the state of their last conversation.
"Shane, man, she kept insisting that it was simply the flu and that I didn't need to come to London." Philip elaborated feverishly over the line. "I should've trusted my gut."
"Kim can be pretty convincing when she wants to be…" Shane acknowledged empathetically.
"No kidding." Philip replied amiably. "I remember the first time I got her on my bike." He began nostalgically. " She swore that she was enjoying herself, but I could tell she hated it … at first…"
Philip's words drifted off realizing the faux pas. At the time, he congratulated himself for coaxing the shy, uptight woman from out of her shell. Now, it was painfully clear that the woman he was drawn to before wasn't exactly who Kimberly truly was. The careful silence punctuated this obvious distinction between the two men's recollections, so he quickly added, " I love her, but damn it if her penchant for underplaying the situation…" And he sighed in defeat, as his voice grew softer, "It's been a very difficult year for us…for her…"
Shane winced.
The spy could have sworn he heard the man almost choke up over his last comment and failed to register the rest of what he was saying as the sting of Philip's proclamation reverberated through the line. The arrogance Philip normally possessed had completely disappeared. What remained was a sincere, albeit bumbling individual who appeared to be seeking some sort of absolution for his past failures with his fiancé. It was quite unsettling for the spy to suddenly receive a deeper layer into Collier that threw off his analysis of the man.
Somehow the conversation limped along as Shane remained flabbergasted at the revelations pouring over the line. Philip lamented how he had been impatient with Kimberly in recent months blaming his preoccupation with his movie as the source of his ire. Shane simply added a few well-timed acknowledgements and let the obviously intoxicated man speak until what remained was someone that the spy could perhaps share a pint or two with down at the local pub. He pinched his brow realizing the absurdity that was taking place between the two men commiserating over the same woman.
After listening to Philip give a detailed account of his last correspondence with Kimberly, Shane proceeded to explain the day's events to an admittedly attentive Philip who immediately suggested that he hop on the earliest available flight out to London. Shane wondered if Bo had been right all along: the spy had chased an idea of who he perceived Philip was solely based on his own regrets and a primal need to claim Kimberly all to himself?
"Can I speak to her?" Philip finally requested affectionately.
"Oh, I'm afraid they have her sedated at the moment." Shane answered sympathetically.
"Oh." Came the crestfallen reply rippling over the line.
"But, I'll have her phone you as soon as she's awake." Shane assured him respectfully.
"Shane, man I appreciate that. Thanks." Philip acknowledged so sincerely that Shane hung up the phone and remained glued to the spot staring at the phone for a moment in disbelief.
Philip slowly depressed the button to end the call. Gazing out at the cityscape, he smiled victoriously. Then, he dialed another number.
"Philip Collier." He announced cordially into the phone.
A few minutes passed before a bored voice replied, "Yes?"
"I think I just may have created an opening with Donovan."
Location: Hospital in Cheltenham, just before sun-up
Shane shuffled down the hall still a bit perplexed by what had transpired. The effects of an intense and sleepless night were beginning to show. With his hands secured in his trouser pockets, flashes of the conversation whizzed past his fatigued psyche at break-necked speed. And as was the case when he let his guard down, the spy's biggest regret taunted him of his folly.
Halting in the middle of the desolate hall, Shane turned his attention towards the window to his left. Drawn to random twinkling lights peppering the sleepy city landscape, he ventured towards the icy windowpane. His face leaned in so close that Shane's breath created a cloudy imprint against the glass. His eyes lifted upward—remorse dripping from them.
"So you just want to give up on us?"
"I didn't want to." She admitted in defeat. "That's why I wanted to talk to you the other day…
"I don't understand."
"I asked you what would happen if Cal were ever a part of our lives and you said that you didn't think our marriage could take it…" ~ August 1990
There was nothing worse in the Shane's mind than forfeiting a game regardless whether it was a frivolous friendly competition, a case for the ISA, or matters of the heart. For the latter, the surrender was a memory that couldn't be washed away over time—only diluted momentarily in the brief delusions of alcohol. It lulled him into a brooding trance causing the spy's head to fall forward against the cold barren window. Its frozen bite ignited his deaden senses allowing the spy to slowly unravel the riddle of his conversation with the manipulative movie producer. Whatever Collier's flaws, in Shane's mind, the man had trumped him with one key character trait: devotion. Philip Collier was a determined man who desperately needed to keep his tenuous relationship with Kimberly alive at all costs! It mattered little to him that Shane possessed information that could shatter his engagement to Kimberly. As Philip had correctly surmised back at Thanksgiving, Shane would never use the knowledge regarding his dalliances with other women against him due to Shane's love for Kimberly. It was the spy's Achilles heel and had been the moment Kimberly had captured his heart when he spied the purity of her soul behind her careful disguise. It wasn't lost on Shane either that Philip's insistence to repair the relationship for whatever reason stood in stark contrast to the spy's willingness to passively push her away when their marriage began to crumble under the weight of their walls. Whatever his opinion of the famed producer, Shane conceded that the man was dedicated to Kimberly in a way that he hadn't been. To make matters worse, Shane could not pinpoint exactly what drove Collier to be so devoted to his ex? It sure as hell wasn't dedication born out of a love in the traditional sense. Rather, Philip's idea of love and devotion rested on how well it suited him and his purposes. The realization infuriated the spy causing the fog to dissipate over his weary head. Suddenly, a faint alarm sounded in Shane's heart: What the hell was Collier up to?
Abruptly, he turned on his heel and walked briskly towards her room. Peachy, upon seeing his stern countenance approaching in the distance chose to remain silent. She'd observed this in the past and the usual outcome often resulted in broken glass. Waiting just outside the door as he approached, Peachy studied his inquisitive expression,
"The nurse just stopped in and noted a significant improvement in Kimberly's vitals and no sign of the fever returning." She announced encouragingly.
Relieved, Shane nodded.
"They'll wait until she wakes up, but expect Dr. Wellington to release her by lunchtime." Peachy added with a reassuring smile to quash her partner's solemn demeanor. Shane reached out to squeeze her shoulder.
"Would you return to Donovan Manor, so someone will be there when Andrew and Jeannie stir?"
Peachy emphatically agreed to do so and to handle the matter in a way that wouldn't alarm them concerning their mother's health. The two young children had endured enough as it stood.
Shane entered quietly into the room with his eyes focused on her. Since he had left his perch, Kim's expression had relaxed as the sedative's effects sunk into her system. It was evident she had settled into a restful slumber though her head had shifted to the side facing him. Pulling a chair up to the bed, he sat down beside her and watched as the pale blue covers rhythmically rose and fell in tandem to Kimberly's peaceful breathing pattern. Leaning in, he rested his elbows onto his knees and his chin in his hands.
Presently, Kim's left arm lay exposed above the covers with the IV properly in place. As Shane's pensive eyes traced the outline of her hand, the urge to take it into his overtook him. Cupping both hands around hers, the spy affectionately stroked Kim's left hand admiring the festive red paint decorating her nails. Her skin slightly cool to the touch and oh so smooth to caress, Shane brought her fingers to his lips kissing them gingerly as his eyes lifted to watch her unwavering serene expression. Methodically, the spy recounted how many times he'd watched her sleep throughout their relationship: whether by a hospital bed or in his, Shane craved the moment when her eyes opened and upon recognition lit up with adoration for him. And as he watched Kim's face in the hush stillness of her hospital room just before dawn could break the cruelty of the night, a flash of Kim's wild and terrified eyes from a few hours before streaked through Shane's psyche mocking the tender moment.
Yet, he didn't let go of Kim's hand.
No matter how ugly it had gotten between them; whether it was the excruciating fall out over Victor or Cal, or the ugliness that surrounded them during his affair with Kayla, she had never rejected his touch. A simple caress of the cheek or their fingers delicately grazing the other's skin signaled a trust, a spark that kept their love alive while silencing all the demons seeking to devour them.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Shane clung to her hand refusing to yield to the pressure to flee from the ugliness of the memory. Slowly, as the first signs of dawn emerged through in hazy shades of pastel blues, then pinks, and corals, the answer surfaced and solidified in Shane's mind. His fate was sealed with this woman the moment he agreed to surveillance her for the ISA all those years ago. The sad irony was that as much as the weeping woman by the window caused the ice to slowly melt around the stoic spy's heart, it was the flipside of that same truth illuminating through the telescope that he had tried to suppress all these years. As Shane pondered Peachy's advise, the resounding thought that surfaced over and over again wasn't whether Kimberly was worth the effort—their lengthy separation had settled that question in his heart long ago; but rather, was he apt enough to tackle the messiness within their relationship that currently offered no solid resolution?
Suddenly, Kimberly's eyes began to flutter and a soft murmur escaped her lips as she began to stir from her sleep. Alerted, Shane leaned closer caressing her forehead with his hand and letting his fingers slide through her tussled tresses.
"Heeey," He cooed into her ear; his breath bathed her face like the invigorating Mediterranean breeze. "Good morning."
Kimberly's eyes opened and instantly the gentle but concerned expression plastered all over Shane's face ignited her instinct to downplay whatever had transpired while she was unconscious. The corners of her mouth turned upward mischievously,
"You don't look so hot, Captain." She greeted him weakly, which induced a boisterous belly laugh from the concerned spy. To hell with formal protocol! Grinning from ear to ear,
"Well if so, it's because you," Shane emphasized by lovingly tapping the tip of her nose with his finger, "Kept me up all night."
Noticing the sterile surroundings and realizing she was no longer in her bed at Donovan Manor,
"What happened?" She inquired groggily and visibly troubled.
"Shhhhh…" He cajoled. " Your fever spiked to dangerous levels and coupled with a cough…"
Unexpectedly, a low, haggard cough rumbled through Kimberly demonstrating the problem more effectively than an explanation. She leaned forward grabbing her sides and crying out in pain as Shane reached for her to offer aide. Her bewildered blue eyes met his compassionate ones.
"That," Shane emphasized with a nod, "has caused you to re-fracture a few ribs.
"Oh." She whimpered faintly.
Kimberly leaned into him appreciatively and allowed him to stroke her hair affectionately until discomfort passed. Still standing, Shane's chin rested gently on top of her disheveled head as Kimberly's head rested into his protective chest. Instinctively, their hands locked and she hugged them against her breast like a child's security blanket.
"I feel so tired." She whispered as Kimberly began to drift back to light slumber.
"Well, you've been put through the ringer lately." He explained compassionately. His eyes rested on the rising sun stealing a peek inside the hospital room and created warm hazy glow around them. "But the worst of it is over now." He assured her tenderly.
A flash of Shane's horrified expression as she fought against him streaked across Kim's psyche at the sound of his soothing tone signaling the deeper meaning behind his assurances. Gazing into his eyes, she inquired timidly,
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Shane could feel her body tense with the interrogation and attempted to deflect the unintended double meaning behind his observation.
"Nothing, darhling." He assured her tenderly knowing that this was neither the time nor place to pursue that line of thought.
Shifting slightly away from him, her wide eyes caught his empathetic ones, which betrayed the validity of Kim's suspicions. Never one to entertain pity, Kimberly slinked back into the hospital bed and abandoned the security that the spy's love could provide. Shane was once again reminded of what he had discovered about love during Kimberly's blindness.
"Marlena, I didn't realize that what we rely on isn't so much of what we say to each other, but what we see…" ~ June 19, 1985.
It was evident to Shane that what Kimberly saw in him was simply too much uncertainty from the past to trust in his love for her in the present. And on the heels of that little reminder, a discussion he had with his sister-in-law the day after their emotional exchange in his study that previous summer filtered into his psyche.
"Shane," Marlena cradled her teacup pensively as the two stood side by side and faced the south side of the landscape. A peppering of trees heavy in lush green foliage dotted the outer perimeter of the property and shielded the side of the Manor against the sloping hills that harbored grazing sheep in the distance. "The truth is…you're Kim's rock."
Much like learning how to live in a world of darkness when Kimberly had become blind, she was slowly trying to knit a new sense of normal back into her mostly fractured life. A daunting task that caused her to question almost everything she knew to be true about herself and those around her. Kimberly refused to lift her eyes choosing to stare mindlessly down at her hands, which fumbled hesitantly at her bed linen. His eyes transfixed upon the defeated posture of a woman who wrestled with conflicting emotions and memories, Shane resolved to show her something she could be certain of—he was going to be her solid ground.
Unceremoniously, Dr. Wellington burst through the door breaking the silence.
"Good morning, all!" Edward announced patting Shane heartily on the back as he strolled around the bed to greet his patient to her right. Grateful for the interruption, Kimberly lifted her eyes towards the good doctor and replied in kind. Shane meandered to the foot of Kim's bed resting against the plain looking dresser. Arms folded across his chest, he prudently surveyed the scene. Kimberly's translucent blue-green eyes followed the doctor scrutinizing his every move. Edward lifted her right wrist and began to take a pulse as she started to inundate him with inquiries regarding his choice of antibiotics, and procedures. The barrage of questions amused the doctor, which confirmed his suspicion that behind his patient's quiet, feminine demeanor back at Donovan Manor was a lady who could match wits with most anyone who crossed her path.
"Kim thinks we're withholding information regarding her well-being." Shane remarked evenly. His ex-wife's eyes darted between him and Edward divulging a razor-sharp reply, but the doctor cut her off.
"It's quite evident that one is on the mend, if the patient is critiquing her care. " Dr. Wellington noted light-heartedly and then eyed Kimberly authoritatively. " But, you need to rest and let us do the thinking for now." He suggested amiably.
"Doctor," She replied coyly. "I am a woman. When I think, I speak."
"Ha!" Edward chuckled abandoning the task for a moment. He threw his attention back towards Shane, "I like this one." Turning back to the patient, "As You Like It…"
"Act III, Scene II." She chirped confidently.
Impressed, Dr. Wellington before jotting a few notes on his clipboard and winked approvingly,
"Touche, my dear."
Shane's arched his brow at the display feeling a bit unnerved by the observation.
He leaned forward to dominate the discourse.
"Uh, you're married." He interjected playfully with more than a hint of irrational jealousy wrapped within the reminder. The gestured both startled Kimberly and surprised Edward, who wasn't accustomed to being on the receiving end of Donovan's ire. Commiserating over Shakespeare was an innocent intellectual interaction between doctor and patient, but its undertones ignited something in his friend that Edward wasn't accustomed to witnessing before. Edward smiled broadly and deftly diffused the situation,
"Happily, of course."
Kimberly interrupted swiftly shifting her attention between both men.
"Ah, that's quite evident." She replied warmly but definitive enough to halt the obvious progression of sparring between the two old friends.
"How so?" Edward glanced back curiously, but kept his posture addressing his old friend, who was now painfully aware of how ridiculous, he sounded— as though Shane was the jilted lover amongst the trio.
"It's in the eyes." Kimberly admitted softly as she furtively stole a glance in Shane's direction.
"You're quite perceptive, Ms. Brady." He replied studying the two from behind the safety of Kim's charts before the skilled physician swiftly changed directions. With "I figure I probably don't deserve Charlotte, but neither do any of the other blokes who were sniffing up her tree…"
Kimberly chuckled loudly despite herself, and then covered her mouth to redeem herself with a more ladylike reaction.
"So I might as well have her." Edward added with affection dripping from his voice and a glint in his clear blue eyes.
The patient overcome with the depth and sincerity of the quip secretly wished she could again be revered in that manner.
Suddenly, Shane realized the source of his ill-time rebuke of the esteemed Dr. Wellington. For a time, the spy rationed that Kim deserved more and better than what he could provide given his station in life. In one swift second, he had been presented with an illustration of what it might look like if Kimberly were to find another man who could love her in the way she both needed and desired. If not him, Edward certainly fit the bill—providing that he wasn't married of course.
And it wasn't enough.
For when Shane stripped away all pragmatism and altruisms, what remained was one simple, but glaring confession: it was he who needed to be the one to love her.
The snap of Dr. Wellington's clipboard jerked the spy out of his self-induced trance and it was apparent that he had missed out on one of Edward's legendary stories. And by the looks of the lively and cheerful expression plastered all over Kimberly's face, it was a doozy!
Pointing to Shane, Edward shifted his gaze back to Kim. "You know that he was my best man at the wedding?"
The acknowledgement punctuated Edward's subtle attempt to remind the spy where his loyalties lay. Kimberly leaned back into the pillows and smiled brightly ready for a 'Shane Donovan' story she hadn't been privy to before. Taking his cue, and with a flip of the wrist aimed directly at Shane,
"Though he was a sorry excuse for one." Edward quipped dryly noticing Shane's demeanor soften as the spy tilted his head in amusement at the characterization.
"I beg your pardon…" He protested jovially and bowed his head ever so slightly in contrition over his faux pas. And instantly, the matter was resolved between the two men. Edward pointed an accusatory finger at his old friend and elaborated,
"Bond here…neglects his duties to host the proper Englishmen's bachelor party…
"Do I want to know what that entails?" Kimberly interjected wryly.
"No." Both men answered both quickly and firmly—albeit with a sly smile to the question, which produced a smirk from Kimberly.
Edward immediately picked up where they left off.
"So then arrives right before the ceremony, charms half the female wedding party,"
"Only half?" Kimberly interrupted with a dubious lift of her brow. Shane met her challenge still perched against the bureau—still with his arms folded firmly across his chest, but less defensive and exuding a more debonair stance.
"He was in mourning." Edward explained half-heartedly.
"Uh, oohhhh!" Kim sighed knowingly. She clearly enjoyed the levity of the conversation as both men observed her natural peaches and cream complexion returning to her cheeks.
"You two done amusing yourselves at my expense." Shane chided with his eyes darting back and forth between them, but his eyes were hopelessly drawn to her. He couldn't decide when Kimberly appeared more alluring: sleeping peacefully beside him or during times like these when she enamored the male mind with her charm and clever wit?
"Not quite." Edward replied addressing Shane, but his head swiveling quickly back to his patient, "yet performs THE most humorous but poignant of toasts to Charlotte and myself, then disappears into the night before the garter was tossed."
"That sounds about right." Kimberly giggled softly as she tried to restrain a cough.
The conversation shifted back to her care and discharge from the hospital. Feeling drowsy, Kimberly strained to remain an active participant of the discourse. She detested when decisions were made about her in her presence but without her consent. Shane straightened up to escort his friend out.
"Edward, as always."
"Eh, I know the drill." He replied brushing a strand of his strawberry blonde locks aside. With a finger tap to the temple, Edward proclaimed dramatically,
"I count myself in nothing else so happy…" Throwing a glance towards Shane to emphasize his loyalty to an old chum, "As in a soul remembering my good friends." And he turned to exit her room.
"Richard II!" Kimberly called out triumphantly as the door shut behind him. Then grinning brightly back at Shane, who clapped his hands approvingly, she crossed her arms at her breast thoroughly pleased with herself while the color rapidly drained out of her face. As quickly as the spurt of energy had returned to Kimberly, it then abandoned her. Sinking back into the pillows, she was rendered completely winded by the lively, yet brief encounter. Shane tilted his head to the side compassionately as she stared back helplessly. Their eyes carried on a silent conversation.
"Enough of this! I thought I was getting better." Her weary blue-green eyes protested plaintively. Their brightness had disappeared leaving a watery, discouraged plea for help. Shane arched his brow knowingly.
"You are but it takes time." His soulful eyes revealed with their usual steady and coaxing manner. His empathetic smile melted her normally guarded heart.
"But…"
His eyes narrowed interrupting her train of thought. Twinkling with mischief, Shane wagged his finger at her reprovingly.
"If you don't behave, I won't let them discharge you." His expression betrayed to her.
"I hate you." Her grimace suggested so clearly that Shane almost laughed. Kim stuck out her tongue at him because it was only form of rebellion she could muster at the moment.
Shane smiled faintly in his usual superior manner when they both knew he was right.
Suddenly, a wrangled cough sent her bolting forward. Doubling over in pain, she winced in agony. Shane rushed towards her to offer assistance wrapping both arms around her as he carved out a spot beside Kim on the cramp hospital bed.
"All right my dear thespian," He joked light-heartedly. "It's clear that you're not quite ready for the West End just yet."
Kimberly leaned into him for support, clinging to his shirt while he pressed his body against her to steady her weight. She instinctively wrapped her right arm protectively around her torso to brace her body against the wretched cough's reverberating effects.
"I'm so tired…" Kim's body continued to shake as Shane patted her back firmly as she sputtered, "of…this."
"You're so impatient." He mused keeping it to himself. Shane had no intention of saying or doing anything to rile her up again. Impulsively, he squeezed her tightly and sniffed her luxurious honey blonde tresses. As the episode subsided, there was nothing left to distract the two wayward ex-lovers away from the issue at hand. Kimberly slightly pulled away, but her head lobbed back unable to put up a believable wall between them. The effects of Shakespeare and reminiscing with friends' caste a brief spell over the two. Kimberly opened her mouth to speak, but Shane cut her off by cupping her face into his right hand. His thumb caressed her lips shut before he cleared his throat purposefully and retrieved the phone from the bureau. He placed it on the bed within her reach.
"You must call Philip. He is worried about you." He suggested with a soft smile letting his eyes linger over her for a moment.
"Yes, thank you." She murmured in a daze.
And with an affectionate wink, Shane stood leaving a bewildered Kimberly staring at him as he exited the room.