DISCLAIMER Scarecrow & Mrs. King is copyrighted to Warner Brothers and Shoot The Moon Production Company. The original portions of this story, however, are copyrighted to the author. The song, "Loves Glory', is written and performed by Patti Scalfia. No infringement of copyright is intended. For plotting purposes, "canon" references in this story refer to shooting scripts rather than the actual episode aired. Do not distribute, in whole or in part, without permission from the author.
Title: All Love's Glory
Author: Mary
Date written: September, 2003 – May, 2004.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Family life and the Agency do not go hand in hand, a truth Amanda discovers with all too painful clarity. Can she find it in her heart to forgive Lee's betrayal or was their relationship doomed to failure from the start?
Angst Warning: Extreme
Author's Note: This story is a stand-alone and NOT part of the "With Or Without You" universe.
Prologue
"well baby
i'll
i'll believe in all
all of love's glory
so don't you try and talk me down . . ."
Friday, May 22, 1987
11:32 a.m.
Lee Stetson paused beneath the arched entryway and scanned the crowd. Though it was only mid-morning, the elegant dining room was already three-quarters full. By the look of things, this group had kicked their Memorial Day celebration into high gear. Of course, a long weekend held no extraordinary charms for D.C.'s privileged few. As Billy Melrose had once pointed out, no one who worked for a living frequented the O'Ryan Club.
He searched the room again, at last spotting Billy and Dr. Smyth at a secluded corner table. Apparently his chief had finally received that vaunted invitation to the Club he'd always wanted so badly. Lee sent up a prayer that whatever had brought them together on this balmy Friday morning was not going to intrude on his long-overdue vacation. His off-assignment mode had not coincided with Amanda's since their ill-fated honeymoon trip back in February.
As he approached the table, Dr. Smyth acknowledged him with a thin-lipped smile. "Sit, Scarecrow. We don't stand on ceremony here."
Lee frowned as he lowered himself into a chair. When the head of the Agency attempted pleasantries, it could only mean one thing. Billy's equally sour expression confirmed that his boss's thoughts were running in a similar vein.
"Order something if you like, kiddies," Smyth offered with an affected wave of his hand. "Then let's get down to brass tacks. There's a lot of ground to cover and time's a fleeting."
Without sparing so much as a glance at Dr. Smyth, Lee opened the leather-bound menu. The Bay Room's luncheon specialties seemed more suited to a full-course dinner than an early lunch. Where was that famous French dip sandwich Billy was always raving about? He noted with a touch of annoyance that the prices weren't even listed. Elite clubs like the O'Ryan held no special charms for him anymore.
In spite of the serious tone at the table, Lee smiled. Amanda would be pleased that her tireless speeches on the merits of frugality hadn't fallen on deaf ears. After all, he was a family man now. If he ever hoped to convince her that the big property up in Rockville was more than a pipedream, he needed to show her that he could compromise, too.
Dr. Smyth's voice shook him from his pleasant daydream. "I suppose you're wondering why I initiated this little party," Smyth drawled as he removed his cigarette holder from his jacket pocket. "I spent the morning chewing the fat with the President's special security boys. They threw us a new bone, and it promises to be the meatiest one yet."
Smyth retrieved two files from a slim leather briefcase. Lee could almost feel his weekend plans slipping away as the Agency's Director of Covert Operations slid the thick one marked "Eyes Only" across the table to him. "Take a big, wide gander at that, Scarecrow."
Lee rubbed the tips of his fingers over his forehead as he opened the cover. "'Arbaalk?' It doesn't sound familiar."
Dr. Smyth slipped a cigarette into the ivory holder. "Au contraire, my boy. You, more than anyone, should grasp the significance of the letters in that particular name."
Out of the corner of his eye, Lee saw Billy pop an antacid. This must be even worse than he'd imagined. He turned back to the file, his frown deepening as recognition dawned. "My God, it can't be . . ."
Smyth shot him a self-satisfied smile as he shifted the cigarette holder to the other side of his mouth. "Exactly what the boys in the Oval Office said not two hours ago, but I'm afraid it's all too true. They're back."
Lee glared at his superior. "Why me?"
"Why not? The President himself requested my best agent for this assignment." Smyth's smug look turned decidedly sardonic. "And as William here is always telling me, you, Scarecrow, are at the top of that particular heap."
Lee's mouth suddenly felt dry and he swallowed hard. "And if I refuse?"
"You could, of course. It's certainly within your rights." Smyth chuckled as he passed another file across the table. "But somehow I don't think you will."
Lee felt his remaining saliva evaporate as he opened the slim file. He didn't really have to look; from the bleak expression on Billy's face, he already knew what the official-looking documents would say.
"Did they leave anything out?" Smyth's tone was more arrogant than usual.
Lee bit his lip. "No. Internal Affairs was amazingly thorough." Sitting up straighter, he flipped the folder shut. "What is it you expect, exactly?"
"The same thing the President expects," Smyth said. "An end to this game, once and for all. I think you'll agree it's in everyone's best interest."
Lee's eyes narrowed. "How so?"
Dr. Smyth took a deep breath and looked deliberately around the room. Apparently satisfied that the O'Ryan's patrons were occupied with their own pursuits, he leaned across the table and engaged Lee's eye. "It's what's best, Stetson, for everyone concerned," he said, an unexpected note of compassion creeping into his voice. "Surely you see that as clearly as I do. As we do," he amended, including Billy in his gaze.
Lee raised an eyebrow as he looked to his boss and long-time friend. "You agree with this . . . assessment?"
Billy shifted in his seat. "I wish to God there was another way, Lee," he said at last. "I know how much you and Amanda . . ." He cleared his throat as he looked down at the table.
Unable to meet the sympathy in his friend's dark eyes, Lee reached for his water glass and took a long gulp. Damn right Billy should know; he'd encouraged them, after all. Even given his tacit approval. And now he expected him to simply walk away? No, he couldn't do it. It was too much to ask of any man.
Wasn't it?
As if sensing his inner struggle, Dr. Smyth leaned back in his chair to deliver the final parry. "I believe the new Mrs. Scarecrow has two young wheat stalks of her own." He took an exaggerated puff of his cigarette. "It would be a shame for them to be harvested before their time. Unfair, as well, to force them to pay the price for . . . what? One moment of insanity in an otherwise stellar career?"
Lee let out a long breath. Phillip and Jamie . . . he'd always known deep down inside that somehow, someday, it would come to this. Ever since that business with Kai . . . well, the damned mystery marriage idea had only been a temporary compromise, hadn't it? A way to hold onto a dream he couldn't quite give up. He just hadn't expected to have to pay the piper quite so soon.
"What do you say, Stetson? Of course, the final decision is up to you. Right, Melrose?"
As Billy remained silent, Lee looked away and ran a hand through his hair. Marriage, a family . . . what had he been thinking? He'd been a damn fool to ever let things go so far. After all the years he'd spent in this business, he'd had the temerity to think that he could lead a normal life. Normal was for other people, people who hadn't bartered away their right to happiness in the hallowed name of national security. Still . . .
He turned back to Smyth, hoping, praying for a reprieve, but he only found the inevitable conclusion reflected back at him in the man's wintry gaze. Closing his eyes, Lee willed himself to let the last images of softball games and horseback rides fade away once and for all. Smyth was right—Billy, too, for that matter. They acted as if he had a choice, but he didn't, not really. He'd forfeited his choices long ago. And that was the harshest reality of all.
When he at last allowed himself to speak, Scarecrow's voice was hard. "What do you want me to do?"