This story *could* have taken place during the August 2 AMC ep, after Brooke has been to visit her son Jamie in the New York hospital, and she and Eliot are going back to Pine Valley. The only initial conditions I varied are that she's exhausted and so Eliot drives on the way back too. From then on, the story develops consequently.

    WARNING: I had to get this out of my system. It is contrived, predictable and slightly boring. There's even the SONG (no infringement intended, etc., etc.) In short, it's pure soap opera.


    Brooke woke up still huddled in the passenger seat, wobbly and cold. The car wasn't moving anymore. She opened an eye, expecting to be in Pine Valley, and instead they had stopped by the roadside on the highway. Eliot wasn't at the wheel, and a light rain was falling outside.
    "Eliot?..." Brooke said, her throat aching. She turned and saw him out of the window, apparently still working on the tire. But they had changed it... they had changed it, hadn't they?
    She swung open her door with a certain effort. She grabbed the raincoat from under the seat and put it on her shoulders. Her muscles were aching - out of tension, probably. She closed the door and walked around the car. Eliot was staring pensively at the tire, one knee on the ground, getting wet in the rain.
    "What are you doing?"
    He looked up. "Hi! Where had you hidden that raincoat?"
    "Under the driver's seat," she answered. "You want it? Don't get soaked."
    "No, please, you keep it." He got up and watched her more closely. "Are you all right? You were sleeping like a log."
    "Guess I'm tired," she nodded.
    "More than that," he said. "You ate nothing - just that snack at the automatic vendor at the hospital. Maybe we should look for a place to eat."
    "I've got some chocolate under the dashboard."
    Eliot broke into a wide grin. "Raincoat and chocolate, this car is a real survival unit!" Then he added something about the spare tire.
    "What?" Brooke said. Her ears were sort of ringing, but he had indeed spoken in a low voice, as though he was sorry to say it. "What's the matter with that tire?"
    "It has already been used, hasn't it?" asked Eliot, nodding at it. "It's not new. There should always be a new spare tire in the car. This one won't get us back all the way to Pine Valley."
    "I'm sorry," Brooke said. She leaned on the side of the car. Her throat ache was being joined by a splitting headache. She had to get back into the car: it looked like the beginning of a bout of flu. She waited for the moment to do it gracefully.
    "No, please, don't be," Eliot said softly. "You can't think of everything. Now, all we need to do is find a garage and get another one. I think there's one some miles from here, we should be able to..."
    Brooke had missed her chance for a graceful exit. Before she knew, her knees went slack, and she felt herself sliding along the side of the car.
    Eliot turned sharply. "Brooke! What -" She was sitting on the ground, head down. He knelt at her side. "Brooke! What's the matter? Brooke!" He touched her cheek. "But you're hot! Please, Brooke... You're shaking. Here. Let me help you..."
    She grabbed his arm and let him drag her on her feet. She didn't want him to pick her up. She had already made a fool of herself enough in front of him. "I'm all right," she whispered, leaning on his solid frame. "I'm only tired. Take me home, Eliot."
    He made her sit in the passenger's seat. "Where's your phone? Got to call 911..."
    "No. Please. I'm all right, really."
    "Brooke, you are running a fever. I can't take you home. I must find another tire and change it. Meanwhile, you need a doctor!" He closed her door to shield her from the rain that was beginning to fall harder, walked to the driver's seat, got in and grabbed Brooke's purse. He started unceremoniously to search it, found the phone, looked at it. The battery was dead.
    "Of course," he whispered through clenched teeth. "Brooke, you don't have another battery, by chance? No. Of course not." He hit the headrest with the back of his head. "This can't be happening. Just how much bad luck can we..." He collected himself. He lit the spotlight over the dashboard, turned to Brooke, gave her a good look. She seemed calmer now, drowsy like a little girl. Her cheeks were flushed, but she didn't seem so hot anymore. He was relieved. He had some experience in first aid, and he knew how dangerous a sudden high fever can be.
    "Brooke," he whispered to her, touching her shoulder gently. "We'll reach the garage and call a doctor from there."
    "Sure," she answered, muffled by the raincoat lapels.
    "Just hang on, OK?" He ruffled her slightly wet hair. "I know you're tired. I'll get you home, and you will rest. OK?"
    "OK."
    "Great." He felt his heart clench at the thought of letting go of her, even to drive. He held her tighter for a moment. "You'll be all right, Brooke. Just don't lose heart." He hugged her, then, above and beyond the call of duty, he bent down and kissed her lips.
    Brooke was barely aware of it all. Her main worry was her headache, and the fact that she didn't want to pass the flu on to him. Then it was over too soon, her eyelids fluttered open, but he was leaving her, turning, starting the car. She blinked, not daring to turn and watch him. Her lips tingled with his soft, warm touch.
    Eliot drove through the rain, his eyes fixed on the road. His blood was racing in his veins. And in his mind, just one thought:
    "Are you CRAZY???"

    They stopped in front of the Tropicana Motel. There was nothing tropical in the shabby flat building and the sign flashing a hideous pink and green in the night. "Going to call the doctor," Eliot said. He waited for Brooke's nod of acknowledgement, then he darted out in what was now a downpour, thunder and lightning shaking the cold night air.
    The owner of the motel was a tall guy, blond hair tied at the back of his head, cigarette between his fingers, killing time with an old Western movie on a small black-and-white TV set on the counter. He lifted his lazy eyes when Eliot stormed in. "Bad night, brother?" he drawled, hand under the counter, near the gun.
    "Need a doctor," Eliot panted, pushing his wet hair away from his forehead. "There's a woman outside with a fever."
    "Well, bring her inside," the blond guy said, lifting the telephone.
    Eliot looked around. "I don't know..."
    "Hey, this may be a seedy motel, but I'm not asking you to have an affair with her, just to bring her out of the rain," the guy added with a meaningful look. Meanwhile, he had dialled the number. "Hi kid, it's me. Sorry for the time. Wake up the doc, will you? Got a woman with a fever here." He replaced the telephone. "No sooner said than done. Now, will you bring the lady in?"

    Once again, Brooke refused to let Eliot pick her up. Raincoat tight around her, she walked to the entrance of the room, opening on the parking lot. She nodded at the owner who was standing there with the key in the lock, and let Eliot walk her inside. Thoughts of respectability didn't once cross her mind. She flopped onto the bed, got out of the raincoat and shook her shoes away.
    "Doc will be here soon," the owner assured Eliot, leaving the room.
    "There's a garage in front, I need to change a tire, can you walk there with me and..."
    "No way. The old man doesn't open at this time of night."
    "But he'll know you, if you're with me..."
    "If I'm with you there's the chance he'll shoot both of us. He'll sell you the tire in the morning. You'll have to spend the night here." A twinkle lit up his eyes. "Live with it, man." He retreated and closed the door.
    Eliot groaned inwardly. This wasn't exactly the good impression he had always hoped to make on Brooke. He turned, and noticed her sitting on the bed, looking at him.
    "Better?" he asked.
    "A little." She pressed her hand on her forehead. "My fault."
    "What?" asked Eliot, walking towards her. He didn't want to get too close. It had been a frantic night, they were both stressed to death, and he wasn't fully rational, that much was obvious. Besides, he was drenched, so he remained standing.
    "I shouldn't have panicked for Jamie. I should have listened to what the doctor was telling me. I shouldn't have dragged you in this."
    "You didn't drag me. I went with you."
    "I had no right. And so this serves me right."
    "Hey, Brooke," Eliot said, "you know, 'an eye for an eye' was good enough for Moses, but the other fellow said that there was much more to it."
    "Great," she moaned. "Here I am, stuck in a motel with a Bible-spouting holy man and the end of the world outside."
    Eliot lifted his eyes to the window, washed by rain and lightning and rattled by thunder. "No, really? How come I wasn't notified? I should have. It's in the contract, you know."
    She shot him a look which made him feel very uncomfortable. He had to get rid of those wet clothes as soon as possible, although that would be still another problem. Suddenly, someone knocked at the door.
    He went to open. A small woman closed an umbrella and left it just inside the door. "I'm the doctor," she said, shaking her blond hair in a pageboy cut. She spotted Brooke. "Hi there, what's the matter with you?"
    "Headache, throat ache, also shivers, but not now," Brooke answered, the journalist in her surfacing. "I think I may have a slight fever."
    "Call that slight," the doctor said with reproach, touching her forehead. She placed a thermometer in Brooke's mouth and took some pills from her bag. She turned to Eliot. "Some water, please."
    "Sure," Eliot said. He went into the bathroom and was glad to find the complimentary paper glasses on the sink. He filled one with water and came back. The doctor was looking at the thermometer. She smiled, a surprisingly gentle smile, given her brusque manners. "Nothing to worry about. It's just stress, coupled with the cold. Have you exerted yourself in the last few hours?"
    Brooke nodded. "Her son was taken to the hospital," Eliot volunteered. "He's all right, but I think she's a bit shaken."
    "Take these," the doctor said, handing her a couple of small pills. "Have a good night's rest. Tomorrow you should be able to travel."
    "What's that?" Brooke asked, looking suspiciously at the pills.
    "Just aspirin." She turned to Eliot. "And help her out of those wet clothes."
    Eliot froze. "Please," he said to the doctor, "would you be so kind as to do that yourself?"
    She stared quizzically at him. "Hey, what's the deal? Do you find it arousing?"
    His eyes widened. "No! But you must realise, I'm not her husband, nor her lover nor anything else."
    "Yeah, sure," she said, with a knowing look.
    "Look, I'll go out of the room, all right?" Eliot said, exasperated. He turned and sloshed out, closing the door behind himself.
    He wandered through the poorly lit shrubbery to the reception. The owner was about to call it a night. The movie was over, and it was unlikely that some other madman would come out of the rain.
    "Excuse me," Eliot asked him, "could I have another room?"
    The man looked at him, astounded. Eliot was losing patience. "I'll pay for it. Just give me another room."
    "We're full," the man said.
    "A closet, a shed, whatever," Eliot begged. "I'll sleep here on the floor behind the desk, if you allow me."
    "You won't do anything of that sort," the doctor said, coming up behind him. "She needs to be watched. And kept warm. I don't care if you're her husband, her brother or her landlord, just go back there and stay with her."
    Eliot looked from one to the other. The owner spread his hands, anxious to get rid of that neurotic guy. Eliot's shoulders fell. "All right," he murmured. "Thanks all the same. Doctor, how much..."
    "Don't mention it. I'm a romantic at heart, too." She winked at the owner, who allowed himself a smile and gestured to her gallantly as she left the building.

    Eliot trudged back to the room. Tiredness was beginning to hit him as he locked the door behind him. By the light of the small lamp on the nightstand, Brooke lay in the bed, curled up on her side, the sheet pulled up around her. Only the strap of a creamy slip was visible between her shoulder and neck. Eliot sighed, turned off the lamp and walked into the bathroom.
    He had to hang his shirt and trousers to dry and give himself a good washdown to get away the sweat and the grit. At last, stripped down to his boxers, he came back to the room. Fast asleep, Brooke hadn't moved.
    He fervently prayed for strength. Then he lifted the sheet and slipped into bed with her. Careful not to touch her, he lay by her side and just put an arm around her. Unexplained tears stung his eyes. He covered his face with the other hand to stifle his sobs. At last, worn out by fatigue, worry and the physical effort of crying, he fell asleep.

    Brooke woke up suddenly in the darkness. She didn't know where she was, what had happened. She saw the window, the starlight coming in through the slats of the blind, mixed with the pulsing of the motel sign. The storm had abated. Awareness started to come back, and with it, the certainty of who the owner of that arm around her waist was.
    Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she turned her head. Eliot lay beside her. He touched her just with his arm, but she could feel his warmth. He had dispelled all traces of cold in her. Now he was sleeping like a child.
    Brooke smiled, and took the hand that lay unselfconsciously on her stomach. With a small sigh, she put it carefully aside and sat up. She felt light-headed, but the pain was gone. She lowered her feet to the floor and looked at her watch on the nightstand. Half past one. She remembered the doctor putting her to bed. She remembered what had occurred before, and the fact that Jamie was all right. She remembered Eliot standing with her through it all...
    She got up, uneasy, and went to drink some more water. She still felt flushed and shaky. The sensible thing would have been to wake Eliot up and go back to Pine Valley. If they remained there all night, a lot of people would be worried, and then - they could even start talking.
    Brooke smiled to herself. That was the last of her worries, now.
    A sound recalled her to the present. She turned and saw that Eliot had awakened. No, on second thought he hadn't. He was prey of some uncomfortable dream, hugging himself as though to protect himself from something. He uttered an incoherent whisper and hid his face with his arms.
    She went to him, lit the lamp and sat down on the bed. "Eliot," she said gently, shaking his shoulder. "Eliot, wake up."
    This calmed him a little, but it didn't wake him up. He rolled on his back, his hands falling on the pillow, saying something else under his breath. To her it sounded like a name, but she couldn't make it out. Hers, perhaps.
    Well, at least he didn't seem to be having bad dreams anymore. Brooke looked down on him. Wake him up, and leave, or just go back to sleep herself and think about it all by the light of day?
    Suddenly another memory came back to her...
    She stared at his mouth. She pushed away the thought, but it sprung back unbidden. He had been so sweet.
    Now, he should at least be awake for such a thing, she chided herself. But the temptation was just too strong. With a little luck, he'd never know. She took his face lightly between her hands, feeling its shape, the fine cheekbones, the slender chin, the roughness of a slight stubble. She bent and kissed his lips, enjoying how warm and soft and full they were, while a thought kept nagging at her - go back to sleep, Brooke.
    Sure enough, she felt him move, his mouth forming words under hers, his hands opening and closing on the pillow. His breath on her lips. She pulled up and looked at him. "Sorry, Eliot..."
    He opened his eyes, clear and astonished. "Brooke," he whispered. His face lit up with a smile. "Is this a dream?"
    No, Eliot, it's not a dream, I just kissed you, but please forgive me, now get out of there and let's go home...
    She laid a hand on his smooth chest. She had never seen him undressed, and it was quite a sight, sheet and all. He felt solid - good muscles without being bulky; he filled nicely his naturally strong frame. All right, Brooke, the man's a turn-on, now switch off your hormones and get back to yourself.
    But it wasn't just a fact of hormones, and it was very much a fact of being herself... and within herself there was a terrible aching void, an empty place in which Eliot and all that he was seemed to fit like a hand in a glove, and that place seemed to be calling him, to be drawing him in.
    She pushed back a strand of light-brown hair from his forehead. "Yes, Eliot, it's a dream," she said, and bent down to kiss him again. To her thrilled surprise, he responded. His arms moved to encircle her, he let the kiss grow deep, intimate, soulful. He seemed to have decided that if it was indeed a dream it was all right. She should have disenchanted him at once, but now she felt so warm in his arms, her hands in his hair, his hands on her back through her ivory slip, all of herself pressing against his body through the sheet.
    Stop before it's too late, Brooke told herself once again, and suddenly it was too late, and she was lying on the cheap thin mattress, overwhelmed by the feel of him, no sheet, no slip, no nothing. Everything. She gave herself up to it completely, unthinkingly, awed at how good it was, how much she felt close to him, to his madly beating heart.
    "It's been so long," he whispered at her ear.
    She wasn't sure what he meant, and wasn't in the frame of mind to think about it. "Yes... for me too," she sighed.
    He may have been out of practice, but he made up for it with gentleness and passion. "Brooke..." he breathed, a slight questioning inflection in his voice.
    "Please," was her answer.
    As unbelievable as it was, the world didn't come to an end, the stars kept shining through the shade and the motel sign kept pulsing green and pink as their sighs entwined in the silence. In that supreme moment of sincerity, holding her tight, his mouth on hers, he whispered, "I love you, Brooke."
    "Love you too," she managed to answer, before the waves crashed on her and carried her away.

    (music)

When the sky is falling and you're looking round for somewhere to hide
Did you ever call out to someone
Did you ever call out to me, I've never been gone-
I've been right here by your side
There ain't nothin' but clouds
There ain't nothin' but clouds in your eyes
Why don't you believe it when you finally found the truth
You've been drinking poisoned water from the fountain of youth
Why don't you stop tearing up everyone you need the most
So busy trying to get even
You never even try to get close

I can't explain it away, it doesn't make any sense
To know what it's like
I guess you gotta go through it
It doesn't matter baby
Loving you's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it

There were times when we'd never fake it
There were times when we'd always make it
There were times when we'd take it to the limit
And we'd never, never, ever leave each other alone
We were flesh and blood and bone
There were times we had it all
There were times we had it all

There were times when we took our chances
There were times we were damn good dancers
There were times when we heard all the answers
In the beating of the drummer and the riches of the rock and the roll
I can see right through your soul
There were times we had it all
There were times we had it all

If your fears could only be forgotten
We could pull all the barriers down
Would you follow your dream's desire
Would you follow your secret dreams and forbidden fire
Let's just peel out of this town
It's been nothing but dreams
It's been nothing but dreams until now
You're never gonna see it
You got your head stuck in the sand
It's the land of the free and easy streets
It's the home of the damned
You're never gonna see it
You better open up your eyes
You're the only one who's left
Who's gonna believe all your lies

I can't explain it away, it doesn't make any sense
To know what it's like
I guess you gotta go through it
It doesn't matter baby
Loving you's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it

There were times when our bodies glistened
There were times that we can't stop missing
There were times that we'd lay in bed and listen
To the pounding, pounding chorus of our desperate hearts
Nothing could have torn us apart
There were times we had it all
There were times we had it all

There were times when we fought like tigers
There were times we were damn good liars
There were times we extinguished every fire
That was burning, burning, burning up each other alive
From the heavens on down to the dives
There were times we lost it all
There were times we lost it all

There were times when we fought like tigers
There were times we were damn good liars

There were times when our bodies glistened
There were times that we can't stop missing
There were times that we'd lay in bed and listen
To the pounding, pounding chorus of our desperate hearts
Nothing could have torn us apart
There were times we had it all
There were times we had it all

("Loving You's A Dirty Job - But Somebody's Gotta Do It", Bonnie Tyler, written by Jim Steinman)

    At something like half past five they discovered their room faced east, on top of it all.
    The first red rays of the sun tapped impatiently on their eyelids. They were still wrapped in each other's arms and had gotten way too little sleep. Brooke stirred, purred a little, then her eyes flew open on the evidence. She had just seduced Eliot Freeman, for Heaven's sake! The thought came to her exactly in that form and smothered with irony any bitterness she could have felt at herself. And she felt so good, so terribly good. She couldn't deny that.
    Still groggy, he sought refuge from the light by hiding his face against her shoulder. Then she felt him freeze. Here we are, Brooke thought. Slowly, Eliot lifted his head and looked at her with the most devastating expression of bewilderment on his face. It was quite becoming, actually - his blue eyes ablaze with wonder. Now, she would discover in a few moments whether it was a good or a bad thing. He shut his eyes, mouthed something that looked like "Oh, damn", and put his face into the pillow, his shoulders shaking. Was he crying, laughing, praying, calling himself names? When he lifted his face, she was relieved to see at least he wasn't crying, and there was no reproach in his eyes.
    "Good morning to you too, yes, thanks, I slept well, how about you?" she said.
    His eyes softened with amusement. He smoothed down her tousled hair - she must be quite a sight, she thought - disentangled himself from her and sat up. He rubbed his face with his hands, then groped on the floor for his boxers.
    "I don't think the circumstances call for modesty," Brooke said. Then she checked herself. She wasn't getting anywhere with wisecracks.
    Eliot pulled his boxers on.
    Brooke couldn't stand the silence any longer. "I'm sorry."
    He turned sharply. "Don't, Brooke."
    The spell broken, she snapped, "How can I not be? This amounts to rape."
    "It wasn't exactly non-consensual, though I tried to convince myself I was dreaming," Eliot answered. He rubbed his unshaven chin. He looked good with a stubble. "Maybe I was."
    "We both were," she said softly.
    He nodded sadly. Brooke was suddenly angry at herself and at him. He couldn't - they couldn't pull back now, not after what they had done. Not after what they had felt and said. Those very words burned in her soul like a cosy hearth. And she could see the warmth of it in his eyes too. They couldn't just let it go to waste.
    He got up and walked to the window. She sighed wistfully. If he wanted them to be virtuous, he couldn't do that. It should have been illegal to walk that way.
    "Oh good, be a dear, pull down that blind," she said.
    He shot her a smirk over his shoulder, then looked outside between two slats. "Brooke... you don't know me. I wasn't able to tell you all about myself. If you had known..."
    "Please, Eliot, don't."
    He turned and looked at her. "But I must..."
    "No. Not now. It's dawn, man. People are still asleep. I'm dying to get back to sleep too. We'll think about it when we are fully awake, OK?"
    He looked at her doubtfully. Now how selfish was this, Brooke thought. Maybe he was burning to tell her something painful, to get it off his conscience, and she was preventing him from doing that.
    "Eliot," she said softly, "whatever you have to tell me... we can't turn back time. I don't want you to suffer about it either. I don't want to spoil this moment. I'm... I'm afraid to lose it."
    "What do you wish me to do, Brooke?" he asked in a whisper.
    "I'd like you to pull down that blind and come back here. With me. Just some hours more. Can you do that?"
    He didn't answer. Then he turned and adjusted the blind, so that the room regained part of its darkness, a cosy, reddish glow from the dawn outside. He gave her a smile, then walked back towards the bed, lifted the sheets and lay down beside her. He felt to Brooke like all the warmth and life of the sun was coming back. He wrapped her up in his arms and kissed her forehead. "Try to sleep, Brooke."
    She felt indeed sleepy, and his presence helped her relax. He had come back. He didn't mean to leave her alone. She leaned her head on his shoulder and snuggled against him. She wanted him again, but now she was tired, so tired, and she only wanted to rest a bit in his arms.