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Rating: PG for mild profanity

Summary: When episode production and airing orders go terribly awry, we, as fans, have no choice but to go in iron out the wrinkles. This explores Amandas feelings following the cute nose comment in light of the kiss in Dead Men, but well before All the Worlds a Stage.

Disclaimer: Scarecrow and Mrs. King is the property of Shoot the Moon Production Company and Warner Brothers. By expressing myself in this medium, I intend no copyright infringement. I reserve all rights with respect to this original work. Please do not reproduce it in like, or in kind without my express permission.

Author's Note: This is something I started a LOOOOONG time ago and then buried. Via the conduit of SMKAuthors it was resurrected months later, and had gone through a few incarnations since its inception. I had originally intended this to be a light piece, and indulged in a little linguistic levity, but as with most of what I write, this wound up getting heavy although not dark. Thank you to the many people who read this in its various manifestations including Doubly (on whom inflicted the version w/ the dog), the SMKAuthors, and SSA.

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The White House announced today that it is continuing its investigation into the bombing of a West Berlin discotheque, which led to the death of an American serviceman. All information at this point links the bombing to a terrorist group connected to Libyan dictator Moamar Al-Ghadaffi.

In entertainment news, rogue rocker Randall Skyler, whose latest album 'Barbed Wire Love' has recently gone multi-platinum, has adopted a new cause. This weekend, the charitable organization, Food for Flight, which was the brainchild of the rocker, kicked off their campaign to feed the world by sending millions of dollars worth of food to needy countries all over the globe.

Today is Friday, April eleventh, nineteen-eighty-six, and you are listening to WETA, your National Public Radio Station.

Amanda reached for the knob on her radio, turning the volume all the way down, and then off. She'd had enough of Randall Skyler for the time being. As she maneuvered her car from the highway to an access road, she couldn't help but steal a glance at her face in the rear view mirror.

Cute nose indeed!

She eased to a stop at a red light, and took the opportunity to flip down the sun visor and study her own reflection. Trying to develop a degree of detachment, she peered probingly at her proboscis.

The Communist agents had paired off. With worldwide disaster averted, at least for the moment, they were more interested in one another than in maintaining an edge.

Lee had watched them, a glimmer of amusement and something else in his eyes, and her heart quickened at his contemplative expression. She'd taken control of the situation, pressing him to reveal his thoughts. Instead of taking the lead of the others on the plane and kissing her however, he'd told her she had a cute nose.

What on earth had he meant, 'You've got a cute nose?!?

No one had ever said anything about her nose before. When men complemented her, it was always her smile, her eyes, or even her legs they spoke of. She wondered, not without a degree of self-consciousness, what had led him to notice her nose.

A horn from behind interrupted her moment of self-scrutiny. Embarrassed, she took off from the light and flipped the visor back into place with a resounding, "Damn you, Lee Stetson!"

=====//======

"Amanda, you're back! Why didn't you call? I would've tidied up before you got here!"

"It's fine, Mother, really. I'm too tired to notice." Amanda stationed her suitcase at the foot of the stairs, and slumped bonelessly into the closest armchair.

"Why don't you go get ready for bed, darling. I'll fix you some tea." Amanda didn't protest, and slowly began climbing the stairs.

"Mother?" She stopped her ascent and called down to the other woman, "What do you think of my nose?"

"Your nose?" Dotty responded, both bemused and confused. "I've never really given it much thought, why?"

"Oh, no reason." Amanda climbed the rest of the stairs.

=====//=====

Stepping out of the shower and into her robe, she briskly towel dried her hair, and then reached for the bottle of moisturizer. Working it over the familiar contours of her face, she looked at the woman in the mirror looking back at her. Not bad, she realized with a smile. A few laugh lines around her eyes, but her cheekbones were still strong -- her lips still full.

She squeezed out another dollop of the cream and smoothed it into the skin of her forehead. Leaning closer, she again examined her nose. With the lightest of touches, she traced its edges, and then slowly, without thinking, ran her fingertips over her lips.

She shuddered in surprise at the sudden shock of sensations that the fleeting touch had sent coursing through her body. Buried within them, was a memory best left unbidden.

Damn you, Scarecrow! She glared into the mirror before slipping quietly out of the bathroom.

=====//====

In the dark of her bedroom, Amanda felt an odd sense of security. Thoughts and images she would normally try to suppress, were, under the cover of the nocturnal fortress, allowed to roam uninhibited.

Lee had kissed her.

She had kissed Lee.

She and Lee had kissed one another. Not as a cover, not as a part of a case, no imminent fear of death leading to rash decisions, they had done so for no more significant reason than that they had wanted to.

If she concentrated, she could still feel the gentle pressure of his lips against hers. The contact had lasted no longer than a fraction of a second, but the adrenaline and endorphin rush had endured a great deal longer. Her cheeks were still flushed when she'd gone to bed that evening.

What had it meant?

It was a gentle kiss. Undemanding and sweet, it was an answer to a question it had taken them three years to ask one another. Yet, at the same time, behind it was the promise of more to come. Had her mother not come home so early, there may have been more.

Or so she had thought.

They hadn't spoken of that evening since then. It was as though it had never happened. On her couch, he had started to say something, but she had cut him off with a look and a gentle hand on his cheek. At that moment, she'd felt they were beyond words, but now, she wasn't so sure. She would have liked to have known what he was thinking.

How could he do this to her? What right did he have to be so exciting, so caring, so attractive, so masculine, so interesting, so Lee! What right did he have to kiss her one night and then pretend it had never happened the next morning?

What right did she have to expect more?

"Damn you, Lee Stetson," she whispered against the darkness, before rolling over and falling into the dreamless sleep of one thoroughly exhausted.

=====//=====

Dotty had not forgotten Amanda's promise to sit down and have a long talk. The next morning, two steaming mugs of cocoa and a lifetime of memories greeted her from the kitchen table.

"Mother, I can't believe this." She picked up a pompom, and began to absently straighten the tassels. "You even saved my midterm reports from school!"

"That's what mothers do. You have just as many of the boys' things."

"Yes, but will I still have them twenty years from now?" She put down the pompom and sipped the rich chocolate brew in contemplation.

"Of course you will. That's how you keep in touch with the past. Like these for instance." Dotty reached to the chair next to her, and produced a small shoebox. Inside were nestled two pink satin ballet slippers.

"My toe shoes!" The leather soles were almost black as a result of the combined effects of dirt and resin. The satin, too, bore signs of wear. Her face alive with wonder and surprise, Amanda took one of them into her hand, and ran her finger along the smooth fabric, wondering where the time had gone.

"I remember the day your teacher finally promoted you to the pointe class. You were SO proud, and couldn't wait for the shoes to come in. When they finally did, it was all your daddy and I could do to get you to take them off. You would have worn them to bed if we'd let you."

It was sad when your little girl grew up, Dotty thought again - amazed that the tiny child who had once paraded around the house in nothing more than a smile was now the mother of two boys of her own. Amazed that she, too, was by implication older. She didn't feel it.

Amanda smiled at the memory. "I know. I was going to be a prima ballerina and dance around the world." She stood and performed an exaggerated pirouette across the kitchen floor to place her empty mug in the sink, and then returned to the chair with an artless flop.

"Your teachers thought you were quite good." Dotty remarked. "But you quit a year later. Daddy and I could never understand that."

"I was growing up." She suddenly felt defensive, rehashing an argument that was almost twenty years old. "I was in high school. I'd developed other interests."

"Boys," Dotty stated simply.

"Yes, partly." Amanda blushed, though not really surprised that her mother could read her so well. "I didn't want to be in dance class two hours a day; I wanted more. And in high school it was the cheerleaders. . ." She motioned with her head toward the pompoms. "Who attracted the attention.

"Boys," Dotty repeated. "I can't tell you how many sleepless nights your father and I spent your father mostly. I think sometimes he wished you'd stayed that little ballerina forever."

"Sometimes, Mother." Amanda glanced wistfully at the toe shoes. "So do I."

Dotty studied her daughter with a degree of disquiet. The sleepless nights had not ended with Amandas graduation from high school, but had continued through her four years at the University of Virginia, into her marriage, two pregnancies, divorce, and her re-entry into the dating scene. Amandas revelation puzzled Dotty; her daughter was not one to indulge in either regrets or self-pity.

Something was going on. She had to broach the subject carefully. Tact, however, was not one of Dotty's stronger suits. "Amanda, dear, how's your love life?"

Amanda dropped the photograph she'd been holding, and looked up at her mother her face ablaze with righteous indignation. "Excuse ME??!"

"Darling, it's just that you've been so preoccupied lately -- so distant, and it's been so long since you've brought anyone to dinner. All you've done lately is work. That's not healthy, Amanda."

"Mother . . ." Amanda shot the woman a look that clearly conveyed that she did not care for this conversational course.

"I'm not saying that you have to form a relationship with anyone; sometimes a little 'fling' can be healthy."

"Mother!" Amanda blanched at the thought of her mother having a 'fling.'

"Just something to think about, dear," Dotty responded noncommittally.

"I need to get some things at the store." Amanda decided to make a rapid retreat before the discussion deteriorated any further.

======//=====

Dotty had left the car radio tuned to the classical station again. Amanda was about to switch it when the familiar strains of Tchaikovsky hit her ears. She could almost hear Madame Lessard's voice calling above the music, 'and one, and two, and three, and four. Relevé, pas du bourré, and tour jeté. Mademoiselle West, your hands. Watch your hands! Swans do not let their wings flop about. Keep your arms tight.' Amanda smiled, and put the station wagon in reverse - leaving Tchaikovsy on for the time being.

As she drove to the grocery store, she let her thoughts wander once again to the child she'd been and the woman she'd become. Growing up an only child, rare in the baby boom, she'd never doubted the depth of her parents' love --- either for her, or for one another. As an adult, she'd wanted nothing more than to create a family like the one in which she'd been raised. She'd been blind - young, naive, and too stubborn to concede the inevitable. She and Joe, much as they loved each other, could not have a successful marriage.

He'd spoken of saving the world; she'd spoken of families. Neither had listened to what the other was saying. She couldn't blame him any more than could she blame herself. There had been a lot of good times as well. She smiled at the final thought. Without him, she would not have been blessed with her two wonderful sons.

She pulled into the parking lot. She'd learned a lot in her marriage with Joe, but as she'd told him earlier, it was time to move forward.

=====//=====

"Help you with your bags, ma'am?" Amanda spun at the sound of the voice in her ear. She would have known who it was, even if he'd spoken to her in Farsi. He stood before her decked in the green apron and bow tie worn by every Amerifresh bag boy, and she disguised her amusement in an admonishment.

"Lee! What are you doing here? I thought we talked about you showing up in my grocery store."

"Well, technically, I'm not in your grocery store . . ." he began, but she cut him off with a raised eyebrow. "I drove by your house, but you weren't there. He paused to lift the bags from her cart to the back of the station wagon. I had something I wanted to give you -- a memento of our case." He reached inside the pocket of his apron to hand her a cassette box. "It's Randall Skyler's latest. He autographed it for you. Open it up."

Inside, on the jacket, she could see the inscription, 'To a really groovy chick. Keep on spyin. RS.' "Gosh, Lee, thanks." She lay a gentle hand on his forearm, and they both froze -- stunned by the surge of energy that passed between them. Lee cleared his throat. Amanda, drawn by an indescribable force, moved closer to him. She wrapped an arm around his waist as he slowly angled his head toward hers.

"Holy smoke!" A voice from behind them returned Lee and Amanda to the present. "If that's how they're tipping nowadays I'm gonna have to start working here." From over Lee's shoulder Amanda caught sight of a teenaged boy she recognized from the neighborhood. She only hoped that he didn't recognize her.

"Well. . ." Lee cleared his throat again and stepped backward. "I'll see you on Monday."

"Right, Monday," she parroted, and then climbed into her car, taking off out of the parking lot at a breakneck speed. The world's most unlikely bag boy sighed, and went inside to return the apron and bow tie.

=====//=====

What had that been about?

Was she really so irresponsible as to kiss Lee Stetson in the parking lot of the Amerifresh? She wryly imagined her mother's reaction, 'Amanda, dear, when I told you to consider a fling, I didn't mean for you to accost the nearest bag boy.'

What had she been thinking? The other night, on her couch, it had been she who initiated the kiss. He'd cleared his throat, causing her to look up from her cake. He smiled at her, a look that melted her from the inside out, and she returned it - granting him permission, and requesting the same in a single glance. "Amanda . . ." he'd begun, but she'd cut him off with a soft palm to his cheek. Words were not necessary.

Or so she had thought. Her frustration fermented with each moment that passed with no acknowledgment, and now that they had been mercilessly interrupted yet again, she didnt seem any closer to stilling her nerves.

Preoccupied and pondering, she made her way home.

She was a very perceptive person. She was insightful. Her ability to read people and understand things had proved invaluable in the past. Funny, she thought, as she pulled into the driveway, that she couldn't use the same logic, perception, and insight, on herself. Why was it, she wondered, as she opened the car door, that she was able to instantly size up any of the other women Lee had dated, but could not evaluate the status of their own relationship?

Her relationship with Lee was, she rationalized, as let herself into the house, very different than any she'd been in before. She knew the same held for him. They were friends, and she valued their friendship. Though she was attracted to and harbored a deep affection for Lee, the prospect of moving to another level left her both nervous and excited.

Up to this point it had been safe -- a few dinners out, a concert, casual flirting over a bottle of wine. Now, however, it was getting serious. She wondered if she could handle it.

Her track record with men was hardly something to brag about. She ran through the names in her head. After a few high school prom dates, Joe was her first love. Theyd managed to maintain a long distance relationship through college and were married after graduation.

After the divorce, there was Dean. Dean was safe, but ultimately, what they had in comfort, they lacked in chemistry. In the end, she had no choice but to break things off with him - to the dismay of her mother and the elation of his. Following Dean, she'd dated, but nothing serious.

She let out a small laugh of derision as she set her bags on the counter. Alan. Alan Squires. That had been a mistake. She remembered her mother asking about him one evening. "Whatever happened to that art dealer, Alan, wasn't it? He was such a charming man."

"He was arrested for espionage mother," Amanda deadpanned.

Dotty harrumphed. "If you didn't want to see him any more, you just needed to say so."

Bryce Topping, the polo player, as Lee had dubbed him, was next. He, too, had been incredibly charming. In retrospect, she realized he was a steppingstone between Joe and Lee. Like Joe, he was a lawyer - intelligent, driven, and well acquainted with the ins and outs of the Washingtonian power game. Like Lee, he was urbane, sophisticated, and very good looking, with the blonde hair and hazel eyes that proved irresistible to most women.

But there had been something missing -- although Bryce was a wonderful man, he hadn't been Lee.

Then came Alan Chamberlain. Two Alans, she realized as she placed a can of soup in the cupboard. He was an assignment. They werent even supposed to meet, but they did. He was attentive and made her feel special, but shed known the moment that shed kissed him that it wasn’t meant to be. That night when Lee showed up in her bedroom, shed felt almost guilty as though shed been cheating on him. She realized there was no way around it; she loved him.

Shed almost told him as much instead backing down at the last moment, and settling for telling him that she was really glad to have known him. It wasnt time. She wasnt ready to say it, and he wasnt ready to hear it.

And now? She looked at the bottle of wine on the counter. She couldnt remember when shed gotten in the habit of picking a bottle up every so often when she was at the store, but she knew it was an influence Leed had on her.

Shed changed a lot since meeting him, she admitted to herself, as she placed the wine in the cabinet next to the sink. She liked it. She was proud of who shed become, and what shed accomplished. Moreso, however, she cherished the time she spent with her partner.

Yes, she was anxious, but the rational part of her brain told her that was a normal part of any new relationship. Her past was past, and her future looked very promising. Monday was only two days away, she realized with a smile. Then pausing, she retrieved the wine bottle, and leaving a note for her mother, headed out the door. Who said she had to wait for Monday?

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