A/N: Well ,,, obviously I do not own any of the characters, or at least most of them. I'm borrowing them for entertainment reasons only. Now, I have tried, tried, and tried to so a Dorothy/Scarecrow fic for YEARS, since I was 9 years old. So ... here's yet another attempt. I deeply apologize to any other Dorothy/Scarecrow fan writers who may have followed even a vaguely similar line before for any of the circumstances in my stories. Some of you have done much better at this than me. I am making no attempt to copy other authors.

Also, I have no real memory of the books except that Dorothy was meant to be a blonde. The characters are borrowed much from the MGM film version, and their personalities are pretty much mine.

Part One: I've Been Watching You

The palace was cool in the late winter evening, where it stood overlooking the entire Emerald City around it. The Scarecrow of Oz had been ruler for 12 years now, with the assistance of his friends the Tin Woodman and Cowardly Lion. As the years had passed, several changes had taken place in their own personal lives. They had taken on human names to humanize themselves more, so they could be known by those names rather than by the forms they sometimes felt trapped in. The Tin Woodman had taken on the name that had once been his, long ago, before he'd become the Tin Woodman - Nick Chopper. The Cowardly Lion, for lack of better ideas, had adopted the name Vincent Leonhart. And the Scarecrow, also for lack of any better ideas, now was referred to by the simple name Robert Crow – by those who even bothered to use his name when they didn't scrape and bow around him as though he were some truly great sovereign.

None had forgotten Dorothy Gale once she had been gone from their lives. At least once a day, in their conversations together, her memory would somehow be brought up. Even in the middle of some useless political meetings, they could often meet eyes across the table, and know that Dorothy was in their thoughts. It had become unbearable after only 3 years, to not know whether she had made it home to Kansas safely. Whether or not she was alive and well and happy now that she was supposedly home. In the end, they had sought out Glinda's assistance to keep tabs on their good friend, who was solely responsible for the way their lives had turned out.

Glinda had given the Scarecrow a painting, created by her magic and taken by his own memories of what she looked like in his eyes. Life sized, the picture portrayed Dorothy as she had been that last day in Oz, her pretty little face staring up at her three friends with wide blue eyes,. Her curly golden hair had fallen loose over her shoulders since a braid or pigtails had been far too much of a hassle to bother with that day. She had been so excited about going home. She held that little Scottish Terrier, Toto, in her vaguely plump little arms, clutching him to her chest as though her very life depended on it. The blue dress she wore went down past her knees, revealing her white stockings on her calves, and the ruby slippers clicking together on her feet. Beyond her, there was nothing but a mixture of colors ... as the Scarecrow had lost all memory of anything around them the last time he saw Dorothy's face. All he remembered was her.

The threesome had been told to bring the painting home, and hang it where all could view it at their leisure. All they had to do was ask to see Dorothy, and the image would swirl and vanish, the colors constantly moving and changing until it rearranged itself into a newer picture, a newer rendering of Dorothy Gale as she grew up. The first time they had done this together, they had seen Dorothy and her Aunt Em standing at the foot of a freshly covered grave, both with tear stained cheeks. Toto had been laying at Dorothy's feet with a similarly sad expression.

Thus time had gone on. They had witnessed through portraits the next years of Dorothy Gale's life in Kansas. They saw her grow into womanhood as she took on more of the chores on her Aunt's farm, both in the house and in the fields. They saw her standing sometimes near a schoolhouse with friends, sometimes even boys. It was apparent by how often she could sometimes be seen with the same boy in different places that he was meant to be her Beau. Yet ... eventually that boy disappeared from the paintings altogether... and only two years earlier, so had Dorothy's Aunt Em. The orphan child was now without a guardian... but no, she was not a young girl anymore. She was a woman.

It had amazed all three the day they stood back from the portrait and stared at a painting of Dorothy Gale as she was 12 years after she left. None of them had truly realized right away that she was actually growing into a woman. Yet it was undeniable. The portrait showed her trying in vain to run her Aunt's farm with the few farm hands who had remained loyal to her after their true employers had passed on. She was standing over a stove, with the stage hands at her table in the background eating her hearty breakfast. Her golden hair fell down like silk to the small of her back and over her shoulders, covering the already apron-blocked dress of dusty rose that she wore. This dress was more than any child would be allowed to ever wear. It showed off curves that only a woman could have. It was not something they concentrated on ... but it was undeniable.

"She's a woman now." Vincent - the once Cowardly Lion - said in a low, hushed voice. "Do you think she's forgotten us? Do you think she's happy with them?"

Robert Crow - once the Scarecrow - stepped closer to the portrait again to stare long and hard at the face of the woman who had once been Dorothy Gale the child. She was supposed to be laughing as she stirred a pot of something on her stove ... but her eyes were not laughing or smiling. They were haunted eyes. He turned towards Nick Chopper and asked with his eyes, if his friend saw the same thing he did.

"No." Nick admitted softly. "I don't think that she is at all..."

Robert turned back to the portrait just as the colors swirled once more, blurring and changing until it was once again the portrait Glinda had once given them. The portrait of the little girl, Dorothy Gale.

"I think she needs our help." He decided in a soft whisper. "But we need to find out before we go ... charging into her life again. We can't destroy what her life has become if it's happier than what we think."

Nick simply nodded, as did Vincent.

"Then ... we ask Glinda to help us find a way."