A/N: Up here where I live, there's a large Ukrainian population and they do a lot of things on the Orthodox calendar, so Christmas is on January 7 and New Year's Day is January 14th. I'm using that fact I am using for my own not-too-nefarious purposes here. Hope you enjoy it.

Thanks as always to Lanie Sullivan for the beta job and a huge thank you to Raizelinplaid for creating a book cover for me!

It had seemed like a simple enough invitation at the time. Hell, it wasn't even his invitation; he'd just been the messenger.

"Amanda, what are you doing New Year's Eve?"

She'd looked up from her desk with a laugh and then asked the obvious: "Isn't it a bit early to be asking me that? New Year's Eve was over a week ago. And I'm sure you'll be able to find a new girlfriend by then. I mean, I know Margo took off with that pilot but maybe Gillian will have forgiven you by then."

He had to grin at that one – it was a good shot and he totally deserved it.

"She might have" he answered with a rueful expression. "If only I hadn't cancelled that trip to the Riviera with her to go to Station One."

"Ow," Amanda closed her eyes and grimaced with sympathy. "Yeah, even with eleven months to go, you might not salvage that one."

"And besides, I don't have eleven months… this is a special New Year's Eve…" He hadn't been able to resist leaning in, letting his eyebrows waggle just a little bit, just to see that glint of merriment leap to her eyes and the way she bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"Aren't they all?"

"Well, this one is more special than most – it's next week."

That had made her eyes widen in surprise. "Next week?"

"The Russian Ambassador always has a big New Year's Party in mid-January – says it's something to do with the Gregorian calendar or something. Actually, it's just an excuse to be the guy who has the first big party of the year after all the senators and whatnot have wandered back into town after the holidays. And this year, you're invited."

"But why are you inviting me? I mean, we're not even married anymore – you can invite one of your usual girls. I promise – I'm not the jealous ex-wife type."

It made him smile to see how much Amanda had changed in the year or so since they'd met. She'd been… not shy exactly when they'd first met, but more reserved, more likely to bite her tongue and not say what she was really thinking, although she'd never been able to keep the expression out of her eyes and he had always been able to hear the mental eye rolls when he'd said something she disagreed with. That same Amanda, who had been horrified at even pretending to be his wife in those first few weeks, was now openly enjoying teasing him about their cruise ship adventure in a way that would have made Francine proud. It was nice, the way they'd managed to find a middle ground of friendship, and he'd begun to really enjoy taking her to parties – she took such genuine pleasure in them that it made them more fun for him too.

"Well… actually I'm not the one inviting you," he confessed. "Yuri is."

"Yuri? Yuri Valov?" she looked confused.

"He invited both of us – it seems like the Ambassador would like to thank us for our contribution to world peace but he can't be seen to do it openly."

"Oh. So it's business."

He couldn't miss the faint look of disappointment that accompanied that and rushed to reassure her "No, no, it's not business! Not like Emily's party, I mean… this is both of us being invited by Yuri as a thank-you. You were really great, helping us out with that whole bomb thing and Yuri did say we were both welcome to bring dates but I thought it would be better… um, nicer, I mean… well, I just thought maybe we could just go together instead?"

Her smile had brightened up again. "Yes, that would be nice."

So here he was sitting at the bar like a goddamn wallflower, watching belle-of-the-ball Amanda dance with a series of Soviet diplomats who all claimed they simply had to meet the woman who, it was rumored, had saved them all from nuclear annihilation. Currently, it was Yuri Valov, who was looking considerably less stressed than the last time they'd seen him, leading her in a sedate waltz. As they swayed across the floor, Yuri was obviously telling Amanda something that had her rapt attention. She was nodding with that half-smile and that little crease in her forehead that said she was really listening. She was comfortable with Yuri, Lee could tell, because she wasn't doing her usual thing of glancing his way to make sure he was still within sight – a habit she'd developed from a combination of handsy guys at parties that required his intervention and his predisposition to vanish on her at things like this which usually ended up needing her intervention. With a slight frown, he noticed that Yuri was absentmindedly rolling his thumb over one of the pearl buttons that lined the back of Amanda's dress.

That damn dress… it was… it was not white. He knew something about it had been bothering him but it had taken until now to place what it was. At Emily's party the other week, she'd worn that white dress that was sort of sparkly. Or maybe it was just Amanda who'd been sparkly? And then on the cruise, she'd been in white too – that's how he'd spotted her hanging off that gantry, lit up against the inky night like some kind of falling angel. He felt a small wave of nausea as he recalled that moment, coming along the deck and the slow dawn of understanding about what he was seeing, that Amanda was about to drop twenty stories into the pitch-black water and how it had felt like he just couldn't move fast enough to grab her down from there.

Unable to contain a shudder, Lee lifted his glass and knocked back the rest of his whiskey, motioning to the bartender for a refill.

Unbidden, an image of Amanda in her wedding dress came to his mind. That dress had been a little over the top from her usual style, but somehow she'd still managed to find a dress at the last-minute that suited her. Long sleeves, close-fitted but with a lacy décolletage that highlighted her long neck and the light tan she'd picked up during the first few days on the ship. It had been a bit of an out of body experience to find himself actually at an altar reciting the traditional words while trying not to get distracted by the worried dark eyes looking at him, seeking reassurance. Yes, white dresses suited Amanda – silently emphasizing that innate quality of goodness she had, that innocence…

But this black dress… Well, he wasn't sure how he felt about this dress. She looked beautiful and she was certainly getting her fair share of attention in it, the way those buttons at the bottom of the plunging back drew your eye down her figure and the way those skinny straps left you questioning how they were even staying up and became sort of mesmerizing as you waited to see if they'd slip off her shoulders as she danced….

No, white was much better, he decided firmly. When she was in white, it made her easier to find in a crowd like this. In black, she was just another woman in a little black dress at a Washington party, just one dime in a dozen identical women… except that she was attracting the attention of every red-blooded man in the room as near as he could tell.

And just then she glanced over at him from her conversation with Yuri and her face lit up with a different kind of smile, that smile she gave him when they were working on something and it was going well and they were in sync and…

"Isn't she Love, Lee?" remarked a voice beside him suddenly, making him jump slightly at the way it echoed his thoughts so precisely.

"What?" he managed to answer Emily weakly. He'd almost forgotten she was sitting there, so intent on watching over Amanda.

"Amanda. Isn't she lovely this evening? That color really suits her, the way it makes her eyes look so dark."

He could tell Emily was trying to needle him – she was as bad as Billy sometimes in her obvious attempts to push them together. But she was right – Amanda really did look beautiful in that dress. He watched as Stephan Borchov cut in on Yuri and swept Amanda off across the floor, making some comment that had her laughing. An instant later, he scowled as Borchov dipped her in what was obviously just a ploy to look down her dress and Amanda's eyes sought his with that telltale glint of panic.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who think she looks lovely in black," said Emily, in a tone that was much too innocent.

Lee stood up and got ready to stalk across the room to rescue Amanda.

"I suppose she does," he replied trying not to sound as grumpy as he felt. "I just think she looks nicer in white."