Disclaimer: The characters of "Scarecrow and Mrs. King" don't belong to me and I won't profit financially from borrowing them briefly from their rightful owners.

"Getting To Know You…A Little Bit At a Time"

"I wish that you'd asked me to look at these photos the morning after the party. My memories of the evening would have been much fresher. I tried to take in my surroundings as thoroughly as possible; I know that a good agent…or an agent's helper has to be acutely aware of every little detail," Amanda stated earnestly, stepping closer to Lee as twilight enveloped her backyard.

The jaded operative willed himself to not roll his eyes at her eagerness to insert herself into his world.

"Yeah, well, the Agency didn't hear that Hill and O'Sullivan might have been at the party until a few hours ago. I didn't see them there, but Billy thought that you might have seen them." She doesn't need to know that showing her the snapshots was my idea, not Billy's. If she was checking out the men to even a fraction of the degree that they were ogling her than she might remember seeing them there. She's really something when she's dressed up. Not liking where his train of thought was headed, he forced his thoughts back to the business at hand. "Let's go sit in the gazebo. It'll be easier for me to show you their pictures there."

He turned to lead the way, but stopped when he noticed that she wasn't following him.

"C'mon this is important," he urged her impatiently, trying unsuccessfully to keep his growing irritation from creeping into his voice.

"I'm sure that it's important to you, but did you ever stop to consider that I might have been doing something important too when you wrapped on my window?"

"I, umm, I-" he looked down at his feet as his left foot scuffed back and forth in the grass.

"Of course you didn't," she uncharacteristically interrupted him, "nothing that I could be doing could possibly be of any consequence compared to the work of the great Scarecrow-" Her posture was rigid and the warmth that usually radiated from her was missing.

Taken aback by her sharp words and the guilty realization that he rarely gave much thought to how she spent her time, he momentarily looked away from her and then met her accusing eyes.

"I'm sorry if I've made you feel that way. Sometimes I get a little bit carried away when I'm on a case."

"A little bit," she parried, as she pondered whether or not she should let him know why she had been short with him. "I'm sorry, too. I am busy, but if you'll join me in the kitchen I'll look at the photos."

"I can't go in there." Now it was his turn to stand stubbornly rooted to where he stood.

"Yes, you can because I'm home alone this evening. Hurry up, I've already been out here far too long, and I'm sure the timer is going to beep any minute now."

"The timer," he questioned, as he followed her into the kitchen.

"Yes, I'm baking cookies," she replied matter-of-factly.

He shook his head while she hurried to grab a pair of potholders. When she opened the oven door, the unmistakable aroma of vanilla mixed with a hint of cinnamon filled the room. She's equating pursuing terrorists to cookie baking. I may never understand her. For now, I'll keep my thoughts to myself since I can't afford to set her off again.

"Sit down at the table, and as soon I take this batch of cookies out of the oven I'll be glad to look at the photos. Take off your jacket and make yourself at home."

Placing the cookie sheet on the countertop, her eyes wandered to where Lee stood, his back to her, holding his jacket in midair over a chair back.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?"

He didn't respond and he remained immobile.

"Lee. Lee?"

When she still received no reply, she hurriedly crossed the kitchen and gently touched his upper arm.

"Lee?" The combination of her touch and voice reached him. He looked at her, and yet the expression on his face still appeared somewhat distant.

"Are you okay?" Her concern for him was evident as her large brown eyes studied him closely.

"I'm fine." He carefully hung his jacket on the chair in front of him and slowly turned around to face her. "I was just remembering something…or at least I think I was remembering it. How can you tell the difference? How do you know if something is a real memory…or if it's just a fragment of a dream that you've had so often that it seems real?"

The expression on his face told her that he desperately wanted her to reassure him that he'd remembered something precious to him. As she hesitated for a moment, considering what to say, he continued on in a wistful voice.

"I knew it would smell this way. You're baking oatmeal raisin cookies, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"So it had to be more than a dream, if it wasn't, than this aroma wouldn't seem so familiar. My mom baked cookies for me, and I guess she let me help her at least once. It couldn't be just a dream, could it?"

"No," Amanda replied emphatically. She wanted to know more about his childhood, but she knew better than to push him to share more than he was prepared to.

Looking past her, he noticed that there were dozens of cookies cooling on the counter and even more dough waiting to be molded into cookies.

"Umm, Amanda, I know that you're very gung-ho about baking for your boys, but do you really think that they need this many cookies?"

As she'd expected it to, his willingness to let down his guard with her had passed quickly, but she wasn't going anyplace and she was determined to be there for him whether he thought he needed her or not.

"These cookies aren't for the boys. I'm baking them for a fundraiser for the Arlington Public Library. The children's section of the local branch was in the middle of being renovated when the funding suddenly ran out. We, a group of concerned mothers, weren't willing to stand by and do nothing so we decided to raise enough money to finish the job. The bake sale is a small part of a larger fund raising effort that is taking place tomorrow morning. I can't afford to make a large cash donation, but I can bake and I can man the concession stand that we're setting up."

"You were right earlier," he conceded. How does she manage to accomplish so much while believing she's just an average suburban mom?

"About what," she queried, as she returned to forming cookies and carefully arranging them on the cookie sheet in front of her.

"Your mission is every bit as 'consequential' as mine is, maybe, more so. Ensuring that kids develop a love of books and have easy access to them is life changing. Let me help you reach your goal."

"No, I didn't tell you about this in order to hit you up for a contribution," Amanda replied.

"I know that and I wasn't offering a cash contribution-."

"You weren't," she questioned guardedly, her face tilted to the right as she wondered what he had in mind.

"I'm offering you another pair of hands and companionship for a couple of hours. After you look at the photos that I brought, I can phone Billy to tell him whether or not you remember seeing Hill and O'Sullivan at the party. How does that sound to you?"

"Sounds like a good plan to me. Sometimes I enjoy working alone, but there are other times when it's nice to have someone to share the load with."

He wasn't prepared to admit it to either himself or her yet, but deep down inside he was starting to feel the same way.