Disclaimer: The Scarecrow and Mrs. King characters belong to Warner Brothers and Shoot the Moon Enterprises LTD. The story, however, is all mine.
Author's Notes: This was originally published on 07/31/2002. It was written exclusively for the SMucK-a-Palooza 2002 Fanzine and only distributed with the 'zine. Please do not distribute this story or post it anywhere without the author's consent. Many, many thanks to abitdotty and Shelly for giving this the once over at least twice. For the first time, I wrote a complete fic before dotty saw it, and I'm extremely glad that fact didn't send her into complete shock. I definitely appreciate that she managed to beta in the midst of a huge thunder boomer and any number of catastrophes at work. I apologize profusely to Shelly's children that she postponed the mother/children bike ride until she finished the initial beta for me. :-) Choosing fanfic over the kids—that's a true beta, isn't it?
Warnings: None
A Perfect Fit
Amanda heard the car door slam, accompanied by shouts of "Thanks, Mr. Nelson" and "See ya, Brian!" and smiled, knowing her boys would be rushing into the house in seconds, full of enthusiasm about the afternoon's baseball practice. They'd also be ravenous. She had no idea where they put all the food they consumed, but they seemed to be bottomless pits, and they were always three times as hungry after a sporting event.
After noting the current page number of her book, she closed it and placed it on the coffee table. "I guess I won't find out how Katherine gets out of that dungeon until tomorrow," she lamented, having hoped to finish the entire book while the boys were at practice and her mother was off with members of her bridge club for what she had called "Twenty-four hours of decadence." Grateful to have the house to herself for a little while, Amanda hadn't asked –- hadn't dared to ask, if she was brutally honest with herself -– what that meant.
She stood and made her way to check on dinner, entering the kitchen just as the boys burst into the room from the side door, talking and gesturing animatedly. The lasagna momentarily forgotten, she crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway to enjoy watching her sons.
"Did you see that last hit?" Phillip exclaimed, motioning excitedly with his arms. "It went all the way into the parking lot!"
"It was amazing! Longer than anything I've ever seen." Jamie pantomimed batting a baseball. "Wham! Going, going, gone!"
"Yeah, man, it was great! And what about that curve ball?" The older boy turned sideways, tucked his right arm behind his back, and fingered an imaginary baseball. "King shakes off the sign for the fastball. The catcher signals again and King nods. Oh! Get ready, fans! King's gonna throw his world famous curve ball!" Narrowing his eyes at his younger brother, who had taken a batter's stance, Phillip brought his hands together and smiled slightly before hurling the 'ball' with all his might. "There's no way that ball can be hit!"
Jamie drew back to take a full swing at the pitch and sent a bowl skidding across the kitchen counter.
"Whoa! Hey, fellas!" Amanda leapt forward and caught the salad bowl before it plunged to the floor. "Careful with that imaginary bat, okay?"
"Sorry, Mom," Jamie apologized. "We were just . . ."
". . . trying to recreate today's practice in the kitchen?"
Phillip's eyes shone brightly. "Mom, you should have been there. It was the best practice ever."
"Yeah, ever!" echoed his brother, his head bobbing up and down in agreement.
"Yeah? Well, you can tell me all about it over dinner . . . unless you're not hungry."
Dramatically, Jamie slumped over the counter. "I'm starving, Mom!"
"I'm even more starved than he is, 'cause I was on the field for the entire practice." Phillip sneered at Jamie. "He spent half the time playing catch with his doofus friend, George."
"Did not," Jamie retorted and gave his brother a shove.
"Did too, nerd boy," Phillip said, returning the shove.
"Phillip, what have I told you about name-calling?" Amanda planted her hands on her hips and glared at her oldest son. Turning her gaze to Jamie, who was mouthing 'You're in trouble' at his brother, she added, "And don't think I didn't notice that you pushed Phillip. What do you two have to say for yourselves, hmm?"
Suddenly fascinated with their sneakers, the boys muttered, in unison, "Sorry."
Amanda bit her lip to keep from smiling as she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her sons. "That's better. Now, go hit the showers. Dinner's almost ready." She gave in to the grin when both boys gave her quick hugs and dashed out of the kitchen, their recap of the events at the ballpark resuming before they had reached the bottom stair. "Remember, we're having company for dinner, so I expect you to use soap! One of you fellas can use my shower so you'll be ready when Lee gets here!" she hollered after them.
Shaking her head at how easily they had shrugged off being admonished, she opened the oven door to check on dinner. "Perfect. It'll be done by the time I finish with the salad." Taking a deep breath, she added, "Mmm, that does smell good."
Startled when arms encircled her waist and a voice whispered "You smell better than it does" in her ear, she jumped, causing the oven door to slip from her grasp and slam shut.
"Oh!" Turning in Lee's embrace, she confronted him. "When will you stop doing that?"
Eyes twinkling, he grinned. "When you stop being so charmingly startled by it." Slanting his eyes over her shoulder, he commented, "Lasagna for dinner, hmm?" His gaze slid to her lips and his voice dropped seductively. "Is there an appetizer?"
Amanda's heart began to pound erratically as Lee stepped forward, subtly backing her against the oven. When he pressed closer and lowered his head, her breathing quickened and lips parted in anticipation of the kiss. Her eyes drifted closed as he grew tantalizing closer, the thundering in her head feeling as if it were surrounding them.
Bam! Bam! Bam! "C'mon, Phillip! Open the door!!" Bam! Bam! Bam!
Finally realizing that the noise she was hearing was Jamie pounding on an upstairs door, Amanda's eyes opened to see Lee staring at her, an amused expression on his face.
"It's always something, isn't it?" he wryly commented. "I'm beginning to think there's a conspiracy to keep us from having two normal minutes together."
"I suppose we should be thankful it's just the boys and not KGB agents with guns," Amanda replied as she slid out of his embrace to stand at the foot of the stairs. Shouting to be heard above the pounding, she demanded, "Jamie! What's all that noise about?"
"Phillip locked himself in our bathroom!" Bam! Bam! Bam! "Open the door, bait breath!"
"Jamie, stop that pounding this instant! I told you one of you would have to use my shower."
"But, Mom, he has my football soap-on-a-rope!" Jamie wailed plaintively.
"There is plenty of soap in my bathroom."
"But it's girly soap, Mom. I don't wanna smell like flowers."
Amanda swung her head toward Lee at the sound of his low chuckle.
"Hey, you can't really blame a guy for that. What boy wants to smell like a girl?" At Amanda's glare, he put up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. I don't know what I'm talking about." As she returned her attention to the battle above them, he muttered, "I'm just a guy. How would I know what guys feel, huh?"
"I heard that," she responded before raising her voice to shout at a spot directly over her head. "Phillip, give your brother his soap and use your own." She cocked her head and listened intently for a moment. "Phillip. I don't hear that bathroom door opening!"
Bam! Bam! "Mom, he's still in there!"
Amanda's threat of "Do you want me to come up there?" was immediately followed by shouts of "No!" from both boys and the sound of their bathroom door opening.
"Here's your stupid baby soap, cry-baby," Phillip yelled, then slammed the door.
Amanda waited, staring at the ceiling, listening to Jamie stomp his way to her bathroom. When she heard that door slam shut, she sighed heavily and shook her head before returning to the kitchen. She shrugged apologetically at Lee, who had retreated to lean against the sink. "Just another 'normal' night in the King household," she explained.
"You know what? I kinda like it." Lee pushed off from the counter and caught her hand as she reached for the refrigerator door. With a slight tug, he pulled her against him, warning, "But if you tell anyone I said that, I'll deny it." He bent his head toward hers, but stopped short of their lips connecting. "Did you hear that?" he quietly asked, tilting his head slightly.
"What?" Amanda whispered and strained to hear whatever had caught Lee's attention. Furrowing her brows, she looked up at him. "I didn't hear anything."
"Just checking," he winked and lowered his head to kiss her, applying gentle and seductive pressure as his lips slid across hers.
A few moments later, Amanda reluctantly broke the connection. Breathless, she leaned her head against his chest and tried to steady her rapid heartbeat. "I think I oughta fix the salad now."
"Yeah," he agreed and let go of her hand. He leaned back against the sink as she opened the refrigerator and rummaged for the salad ingredients. When she stood, with a head of lettuce, a cucumber, and a green pepper in one hand, and a precariously balanced bowl of cherry tomatoes in the other, Lee reached out to take the bowl from her.
"Thanks," she said as she turned and dropped the vegetables onto the counter in the center of the kitchen, deftly closing the refrigerator door with her foot.
"That's the best appetizer I've ever had," he commented, reaching around her to place the bowl next to the head of lettuce. With his chin nearly resting on her shoulder, his voice dropped to a husky whisper to ask, "How're you gonna top that for dessert?"
With a cluck of her tongue, Amanda asked, "What's gotten into you tonight?"
"Spring," he said and reached for a tomato, smiling mischievously when Amanda smacked his hand. Popping the tomato into his mouth, he chewed thoughtfully and watched her tear lettuce for a moment before continuing. "I'd forgotten what it means to be a boy at the start of spring. You know, when a young man's fancy turns to . . . " he wiggled his eyebrows and leaned in for another brief kiss. "Baseball."
"Baseball?"
"Mmm-hmm. Baseball. It's been years since I've stepped onto a diamond or played a game of catch." He walked to the kitchen table and picked up a baseball mitt, sliding his left hand into it. Thumping the pocket with his right fist, he returned to stand on the opposite side of the counter from Amanda, a far-away look in his eyes. "There's nothing quite like the feel of a well-oiled glove on your hand, the smell of freshly mowed grass, the cheers of the crowd, the crack of the bat."
Staring suspiciously at the glove, Amanda asked, "Isn't that Phillip's? How'd it get on the table?"
"I put it there." Continuing to pound his fist into the glove, Lee casually added, "He was in such a hurry to catch his ride with Mr. Nelson, he left it in the dugout."
Amanda's eyebrows disappeared under her bangs. "Are you telling me you were at the boys' practice today?" She had a flash of Phillip mimicking someone pitching a curve ball. The way he had narrowed his eyes at Jamie, how he'd shaken his head, the smile before releasing the pitch . . . it was suddenly very clear. "You were pitching curve balls to them? And knocked one out of the park?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"How? Why? I mean, how'd you even know about the practice?"
Lee shuffled his feet and slanted his eyes at his wife. "Don't you think I pay attention to you when you talk about the boys?"
With a slight snort, she replied, "Not really." When his head snapped up and she saw the hurt expression on his face, she hastened to add, "I mean, you never seem to, but then, you never seem to be paying attention to most things, and you are, which is what makes you such a good agent, but I didn't think . . . I mean . . . I didn't know . . ." She stared down at the now shredded lettuce on the counter. "You've never shown much interest in their extra-curricular activities."
"I guess not." He ducked his head to look Amanda in the eye. "I'm sorry. I should have. After all, they're part of my 'normal' life now, right?"
She lifted her head and smiled. "What made you go today?"
"After you'd left this afternoon, Phillip called the office to say they might be a little late getting home from practice, because Mr. Nelson had to drop off some kid named Scott before swinging by your place. When I asked him how things were going, he talked my ear off for ten minutes straight about the joys of baseball." Lee smirked at Amanda. "I wonder where he gets that?"
Amanda stopped slicing a cucumber long enough to shake her knife at him. "Go on."
"He was so excited, he got me thinking about how I felt about baseball as a kid. It was a beautiful afternoon, there was nothing urgent going on, the reports on our last few cases were done, Billy was off at some meeting, and I hadn't seen Francine in hours, so . . ."
". . . so, you decided to play hooky," she accused.
"I decided to leave work a little early," he said defensively. His voice softened to add, "I'm glad I did. I had a really good time."
"You sound surprised about that," Amanda commented.
"A little." Lee confessed.
She nodded her head knowingly. "I'm not." The two smiled at each other in silence for a few moments, then Amanda set the knife on the counter. "I have something for you." She disappeared into the laundry room, emerging with a baseball cap. Placing it on her husband's head, she smiled and softly said, "You are now, and forever will be, a Bomber's father."
"You know what?" he asked as he adjusted the cap and smiled. "It's a perfect fit."
The End