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Author: kingmissy

Rating: G

Summary: Role reversals from "There Goes the Neighborhood"

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Warner Brothers and Shoot the Moon Productions. I don't make money from them; I just like playing with them.

Feedback: Constructive suggestions welcome

Archive: SMKfanfic, others please ask

Author's Note: Thanks to Lindsey and eman for making the story better. This is kind of a companion piece to "The List" and a response to eman's X-Files titles challenge.

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Lee Stetson moaned and pulled the covers tighter around his shivering body. He felt terrible. He had returned from an intelligence sharing summit in Singapore bearing not only valuable information, but also the latest version of the Asian flu.

Amanda had repeatedly reminded Lee to get a flu shot, but somehow he had never gotten around to it. He'd had too much work to do, and he hated doctors too much to see one voluntarily. To avoid Amanda's "I told you so" lecture, he had tried to conceal just how sick he was, but to no avail. She'd taken one look at his flushed face, popped a thermometer in his mouth, and packed him off to bed. He could fool a KGB agent, but he couldn't fool a woman who had nursed children through assorted viruses.

Now his fever was giving Lee weird dreams. Though he couldn't recall the dreams clearly when he awoke, he knew that they were vivid and somehow disturbing. He briefly tried to sit up, then collapsed back on his pillow in response to the throbbing in his head and the wave of dizziness that swept over him. Closing his eyes, he drifted off to sleep.

Lee found himself in a nondescript office sitting across from a woman in a severe business suit.

"So," the woman noted approvingly. "You type 80 words a minute, 90 if you don't count mistakes. From where I sit, Mr. Stetson, everything looks tip-top. I'd say you have this secretarial position in the bag. By the way, you look delicious in blue."

Lee was just about to explain that he could barely type his name without using up a bottle of whiteout when Amanda's head suddenly appeared in the doorway. She flashed a dazzling smile and pointed an accusing finger at him. "There you are, you sly boots! I thought we agreed, Babycakes, no job until the triplets are in nursery school."

Amanda turned her attention to the other woman, declaring, "You know, the little man is so gosh-darn eager to earn some pin money. But I told him, the first four years of a child's life are more important than a new roof." She grabbed Lee's hand and pulled him out of the room, cooing, "Come on, Cookieface, the triplets are ready for their two o'clock feeding. Timmy, Tammy, and Tommy are very hungry."

As they reached the street, Lee spluttered, "What the hell is going on? Who do you think I am, Mr. Mom?"

"Look, Lee," Amanda explained. "This wasn't my idea, it was Francine's. She wants us to pose as a nice run-of-the-mill suburban couple in the Betsy Ross estates. You're going to be selling Timmy Bob cosmetics. We have a tip that weapons are being smuggled into South America in packages of cosmetics sent out by suburban house husbands."

"I don't know anything about cosmetics, and I'm certainly not going to sell them," Lee protested.

Amanda looked at him irritably. "Well, you have to do something to make yourself useful, Lee. I mean, you can't shoot, you don't know how to hit, and you certainly don't know anything about guerillas or smuggling. You're going to have to be a Timmy Bob boy and `Sell, sell, sell.`"

Leading Lee inside a tract house that suddenly appeared before them, Amanda stated, "Now, we need to look for evidence of anything suspicious. I know how you feel about going through people's `personal, private things.` Just tell yourself that you're lying and sneaking because you're working for the government."

Before they could begin the search, a woman in a black mask wielding a plastic flamingo statue leaped out at them. With surprising strength, Amanda pushed Lee out of the way and neatly dispatched the woman with a high kick, a left punch to the stomach, and a right hook to the jaw. Shaking her bruised hand, Amanda smirked, "I always did have a killer right." Pulling a pair of handcuffs from her purse, she secured the woman's hands and turned back to Lee. "With her testimony, we should be able to wrap this case up in no time. Good thing, too, because I have a date with Randall Baby. And you should be home in time to make dinner for your girls. Didn't you say that this was your Dad's knitting club night?"

"Amanda," Lee said weakly, "I don't understand. This is crazy."

"Of course you don't understand. I'm the trained agent, after all," Amanda responded patronizingly. "You weren't really any use on this case, but then I didn't think you would be. Oh, do keep Tuesday open. We think someone is stealing classified information under cover of a catering and cleaning service." She grinned. "Francine is sending Billy undercover as a maid, and, well, you know how Billy is. He's gonna need a lot of help."

Lee awoke and found himself looking into his wife's brown eyes.

Amanda placed a cool hand on his forehead and murmured, "I just need to give you some aspirin to lower your fever, and then you can go back to sleep."

"Amanda," Lee croaked, "I promise that next year I am going to get a flu shot."

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