Title: What Made Kelly Run?

Series: Breakthrough

Author: Alan Hitchen

Email: darkmere2000@yahoo.co.uk

Archive: http://www.realmoftheshadow.com/alan.htm

Disclaimer: Popular is the property of Touchstone Television.

Pairing: Sam/Nicole (who are not in this chapter)

Rating: PG-13

Information: Follows on from Seeing is Believing, and, as you've guessed from the title, this is a loose re-working of the episode 'What Makes Sammy Run'.

Summary: Brooke confronts her mother and her own feelings.

"Stupid Bill? Mary Cherry here. Fire up the Learjet, we're going to San Francisco."

That's what she had said, and, true to her word, that's were they were now. Mary Cherry parked the hire-car outside the gallery, simply named 'The Gallery', and turned to face her passenger.

"Nervous, hun?"

"Like a million butterflies just hatched in my stomach," Brooke confirmed, her pale blonde looks getting paler by the second.

"Ah'll go in with you if you'd lahk?"

"No. Thanks, Mary Cherry, but this is something I've got to do alone."

"Okay, Brookie, it's your call, but ah'll be waitin' with the engine runnin'."

Brooke emitted a small tension-relieving chuckle. "This isn't a bank-job. But thanks all the same. And no matter what happens I won't forget this."

Mary Cherry smiled broadly, now confident her place as Brooke's new co-captain was assured she quickly demurred. "Aw, shucks it weren't nothin'."

Brooke got out of the car and encouraged by Mary Cherry's gestures boldly approached the entrance. The 'closed' sign brought her up short, but her momentum caused her to tumble and fall against the door which swung open at her touch. Recovering her balance she entered the dimly-lit and apparently empty building.

The main lights were out, but each picture that hung on the pristine white walls of the gallery was individually illuminated. A wide variety of monochrome photo-art was on display, but what caught Brooke's eye was in pride of place at the far end. It was a full-colour painting of a woman sitting on a chaise longue embracing a younger woman kneeling at her feet. There was an open letter lying next to them, no doubt containing bad news, for it seemed that the older woman was comforting the younger.

"It's called 'The Mother'. It's only a print I'm afraid, the original is in the Bridgeman collection. I'm sorry, we're closed for business today." It had been eight long years, but Brooke instantly recognised the voice of her mother and froze on the spot. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave now." Still Brooke did not move. "Are you alright?" Kelly continued.

Brooke forced herself to turn and speak. "Yes, Mom, I'm fine," she lied.

"Brooke? Is it you?"

"Yes, Mom, it's me, your daughter."

The crushing silence; the lack of any visible response; the sheer pain of rejection in the flesh, caused Brooke to faint. She regained consciousness in Kelly's office, a stark room as minimalist as the gallery itself. The only sign of personal adornment was a silver-framed photograph on the desk. Not of herself, as Brooke so dearly hoped, but one of a white-skinned brunette with bright red lips and a smile full of sultry promise. Brooke sighed and returned to the black leather couch on which she had been lying. Almost at once, Kelly entered the room bearing a glass of cold water. Brooke gulped it down gratefully.

"Better now?" Kelly enquired.

"Much, thanks."

Kelly gingerly sat beside Brooke and focused her attention on the opposite wall. "I suppose you've come for answers?" she posited, without evident emotion.

"To one simple question," Brooke replied plaintively. "Not one word, Mom. You left me with not one word, one hug, one kiss, one promise that everything would be alright. You left me with nothing. One day you were there and the next you were gone. Why, Mom, why?"

Kelly reacted with surprise. "Didn't your father say?"

"He didn't say anything. He couldn't. I'd never seen a grown man cry before. I thought at first you'd died in some horrible accident. But eventually he told me that you'd left him, and me, for Ron Foster."

Again Kelly evinced surprise. "Ron Foster?"

"Is that not true?"

"Not exactly. I left your father - but not for Ron Foster."

"Who then?"

"His wife. I ran away with Ron Foster's wife... You see, we'd always been good friends, but when Gail discovered that she couldn't have children we became even closer. I had always know that I preferred the company of women, but... well... times and circumstances were different then. That way wasn't open to me. So, I made the best of it I could. I met Mike. He was good and kind and decent and he loved me. And I thought that would be enough. Then I had you and I had my work. I thought that was enough. But when Gail kissed me that first time. I knew it wasn't enough, that it would never be enough."

Brooke cut in. "You know Harrison, my best friend? You remember him, you remember his mother?"

"Robin? Yes."

"She recently came out. It was difficult. Harrison didn't take it well. She lost her job and then her girlfriend. It was bad for a while. But she stuck it out - and she didn't abandon her child!" Brooke yelled.

Kelly's glacial calm began to crack as she turned to face her angry daughter. "Brooke, please try to understand. Things weren't working out. I couldn't continue living a lie. I had to leave. I had to start again. I didn't want to hurt you or Mike but a clean break seemed the best solution."

"Then why not take me with you?"

"Because, as I've said, Gail couldn't have children. It would have looked like I was rubbing that fact in her face.

"You did it for her sake?!"

"Partially, yes. You were settled. Mike is a good father. And I assumed he would remarry - he wanted a divorce quick enough - I thought it was for the best."

Brooke shrank back from Kelly's pleading hands. "Don't touch me! You hurt him. You hurt me. For eight years we've been hurting. But not any more. Dad's getting married. To Jane. She's nice. I've not told her this yet, but I already think of her as my mom. She's kind and warm and caring..."

"And I'm not," Kelly interjected ruefully.

"You said it," Brooke snapped back, determined to hurt her mother, to give back some pain. "So, how are things with you and Gail?"

"We split up long since."

"Good! Anyone else?"

"Yes. Currently I'm dating Paige."

"Is she the one on your desk?" Brooke indicated the photo with a swish of her head. "She looks very young."

"Yes, and yes. But she's not that young. She works for the Social Services department and she's as kind and warm and caring as you say Jane is... She was adopted. She only recently found her birth family. Her mother and father and eldest half-sister are dead. But she has two more half-sisters. They want her to move in with them. I want her to move in with me. She has a clear choice, them or me... Which do you think she will choose?"

"Them."

"I think she will too. You see, I can never be family. Not to her and not to you. I see that now, perhaps I always have."

Brooke wavered. "But..."

Kelly cut her protest short. "No, Brooke. Too much water has passed under that bridge out there. I can't turn back the clock. I can't undo what has been done. It's too late. Go home. Let Jane be your mother and Mike's wife. Be happy. And forget about me."

...

Brooke emerged from the gallery and returned to the car.

"Well, how'd it go?" asked Mary Cherry anxiously.

"As bad as could be. I got angry, and she... she doesn't want me," Brooke replied, and then began to cry. A box of Kleenex later, she had regained her composure. "What now?" she asked, expecting Mary Cherry to take her home.

"Well, seein' as were here already, why not do the tourist thang? Ride the cable-cars, eat some sea-food - ah could murder a lobster, and see the sights. We can stay the night at a hotel, and tomorrow, well, 'tomorrow is another day'."

Brooke smiled thinly at her friend. "Let's do it," she said.

...

Brooke flopped onto the hotel bed with a huge sigh of relief. It had been an exhausting day. Mary Cherry had done her best to keep her busy and not thinking about you-know-what, but enjoyable as those efforts had been, Brooke was happy that the long day had ended at last. Some junk TV to relax in front of and an early night would do her just fine. That, at least, had been the plan, but her mind just wouldn't co-operate. She rolled over to look at her companion.

"Mary Cherry, what do you think about gay people?"

"Ah love the gays," replied her friend, immediately switching from 'Friends' to 'Will & Grace' with the remote, but muting the sound as Brooke continued to speak.

"Men, yes, I know, but what about women?"

"Oh, hun, that thang with Lily was just a joke. Ah'm no rug-muncher. Ah love Joe, you know that."

"My mom. She is. That's why she left... and I... I've thought about it... Do you think it's inherited? Like mother, like daughter? It that the reason why I couldn't connect with Josh?"

"Ah don't know. Have you been thinking about anyone in particular?"

"No!" Brooke said, just a little too quickly and too loudly to be believable, "no... it's just that..."

"You've thought about it," Mary Cherry concluded.

"Yes."

"Okay, then. Kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me and see if you like it. Then you'll know. Don't worry, ah won't tell. Just - no tongues - 'kay?"

"Okay."

Brooke shuffled closer and followed Mary Cherry's instructions. "Now close your eyes and think of your fantasy female."

They kissed - for a long time - and then - just as Mary Cherry had said - Brooke knew.

TBC