DISCLAIMER: Scarecrow and Mrs. King is the property of Warner Bros. and Shoot the Moon Enterprises. "I'm Movin' On" was written by Phillip White and D. Vincent Williams and is performed by Rascal Flatts. Where it differs from the aforementioned, this story is the property of the author. Please do not reproduce without my consent.
TITLE: Movin' On
AUTHOR: Dixonhill
RATING: PG13
SUMMARY: Change is the only real constant in life, isn't it?
TIMELINE: Very early fourth season.
FEEDBACK: Yes, I want to know what you think, what works, what doesn't, or even if it just made you chuckle.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: First of all, let me say that I've never really liked songfics. My appreciation og fanfic began in sci-fi and I just never could handle the idea that people in the 23rd century would have an intimate knowledge of 20th century music. My prejudice held when I joined this fandom a couple of years ago. But then I read one that was so wonderfully written that I began to see new possibilities for the format. Lately, I've been further impressed. Add to that the fact that this song kept putting some very clear images into my poor, muse-abandoned brain, and I really had no choice but to write this.
Secondly, I must give a great deal of gratitude to all my usual betas. Anything awful that remains is mine, not theirs. Thanks, ladies, especially for convincing me that a young man named Kyle had nothing to do with this story.
Movin' On
I've dealt with my ghosts and I've faced all my demons,
Finally content with a past I regret
I've found you find strength in your moments of weakness
For once I'm at peace with myself
I've been burdened with blame, trapped in the past for too long
I'm movin' on
Lee Stetson surveyed his empty apartment. Most of his things had already been moved to the new place. The plush gray carpet showed deep indentations from the couch that hadn't been moved in well over a year; the walls were devoid of adornment; the closets were refreshingly bleak. All that remained were a few boxes of items that were either too cherished or too sensitive to entrust to a moving crew – even one cleared by the Agency. He'd meant to have this stuff moved over by now, but between Makarov and Blackthorne . . . well, it had been a busy month.
Shaking his head, Lee pursed his lips and rifled through a small cardboard box sitting where his coffee table once had. His long fingers quickly latched onto a small silver frame containing his parents' wedding photo. This small memento had sat at his bedside for over thirty years; how had it not made it over to the new place yet?
"I got him, Dad," he whispered, fingering the photo reverently. He swallowed the rising lump in his throat and clenched his teeth. "We got him," he muttered, slightly louder. "You, Mom, me, and Amanda. I'll bet you never thought we'd ever work together . . ." Lee smiled fondly as his words trailed off.
" . . . but we couldn't have done it without you," he finished firmly, placing the treasured photo carefully in the box.
He glanced around the living room again, his gaze settling at last on the wet bar. "Get moving, Stetson," he scolded himself lightly, "Amanda'll be here soon with the Jeep, and there're lots more fun things to do with her than packing boxes."
I've lived in this place and I know all the faces
Each one is different but they're always the same
They mean me no harm but it's time that I face it
They'll never allow me to change
But I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong
I'm movin' on
"Hi, there! You know who you've reached, so leave a message and I'll give you my undivided attention just as soon as I can . . ."
Lee grinned wryly as his answering machine suavely responded to an incoming call. Getting a new, unlisted number when he leased the new apartment had been his best idea since locking the Q Bureau door. Only the Agency, Amanda, and a handful of others would be able to contact him at home from now on. He paused in his packing duties, holding tightly to a bottle of Lafite Rothschild '53 for which he'd all but prostituted himself. His grin dissolved into open-mouthed shock as he listened to the caller's message.
"Lee . . ." His name was drawn out in a sensual, though slightly petulant whine. "It's Randi. I'm in town this weekend and I haven't seen you in so long. If you're not seeing anyone, call me; if you are . . . well, bring her along, too, sugar."
Gingerly placing the bottle into its padded packing sleeve, Lee glanced furtively from the door to the answering machine and back again. As the line disconnected the telltale flashing red light seemed to mock him. He heard footsteps in the hallway and dove across the room to erase the message that would surely offend Amanda were she to hear it.
His right shoulder hit the floor as his left index finger stabbed the delete button forcefully. He rose to his knees, rubbing tenderly at his abraded shoulder and cheek.
"Some things never change," he mumbled. "Randi and rug burn – two great things that go great together."
"And yes, Randi," he said, addressing his comments to the answering machine nestled on the floor, "I am seeing someone, but I don't think she was ever very impressed with you." He looked again to the door, and was both relieved and disappointed to not hear a knock or the scratching of Amanda's lock pick.
Lee eyed the last known location of his leather sofa. Randi had been oh-so-flexible . . . the things she could do with her . . .
"Don't go there, Stetson," Lee warned himself with a forceful exhale.
But the unsolicited phone call released a full-blown harem of memories: Daphne, who was always there in a pinch; Crystal, who always wore pink; Jillian, who could call him away with as little notice as the Agency; Svenda, who wore the most interesting underwear; Terri, who taught him that there are always new things to learn; Misty, Debbi, Michelle, Ally, Giselle, Jeanette, Natasha . . .
The brisk, almost cheerful knock on the door roused him. "Lee?" Amanda's voice filtered through. There was another, louder knock and she called again, "Lee? Are you still there?"
"Not really," he replied, although she couldn't possibly hear him, "not any more."
She knocked again. "Lee?" she called with greater urgency. Before he could rise and walk to the door he heard the tumblers of his lock fall into place. Damn! She was good!
"Sweetheart?" she questioned as she entered, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Lee choked, slightly alarmed at the effects of his memories. He cleared his throat in embarrassment and stood, taking her quickly into his arms. "I'm practically a new man."
"What?" Amanda snorted in evident amusement.
"Oh, nothing, nothing." Lee shrugged off her curious look. "I just mean that I'm almost done. Just a few more bottles and the false bottom drawer in the kitchen and then I'm ready to lock this place up for good."
At last I can see life has been patiently waiting for me
And I know there's no guarantees, but I'm not alone
There comes a time in everyone's life
When all you can see are the years passing by
And I have made up my mind that those days are gone
I'm movin' on
"I'll drive," Lee offered amiably but insistently as he carefully closed the Jeep's tailgate on his valued belongings.
"That's okay," Amanda replied, tossing her keys into the air and snatching them back just as Lee reached for them. "Believe it or not, I can drive."
"I know you can," Lee back-pedaled, following Amanda to the driver's side of the vehicle. "It's just that if anything were to happen to my things, I'd rather be mad at me than at you." He ran the fingers of one hand lightly over her right arm, as though to emphasize his concern for her welfare.
"Oh, Lee, your stuff will be just fine." Amanda climbed into the driver's seat, but Lee grabbed the edge of the door, preventing her from closing it.
"Stuff? Stuff?!" Lee sputtered. "Do you realize just what we have in the back of this car? Thousands of dollars worth of wine; old case and contact information that could still do damage --"
"Well, then, maybe you shouldn't share that information," Amanda interrupted sharply as she pointedly glanced around the busy street. "Get in the car, Stetson," she ordered with gentle amusement, pointing to the passenger side of the vehicle.
Clenching his hands in frustration, Lee stalked to the passenger side, eyes down, shaking his head. He climbed in, made an exaggerated show of putting on his seat belt, and began beating a tattoo on the console between the seats.
"Do you mind?" Amanda asked, indicating his drumming fingers.
Lee grunted noncommittally but stopped. He opened the glove compartment and rifled through its contents, finally pulling out the owner's manual and skimming it with feigned interest. He glanced up at the road occasionally, and to the back of the vehicle more frequently.
"Quit worrying," Amanda scolded, turning to catch his eye as it roved toward the boxes piled in the cargo area.
"Watch out!" he suddenly exclaimed, facing forward and grabbing the wheel.
"I saw it," she responded calmly, firmly retaining her grip on the wheel. She smoothly maneuvered the car around the pothole Lee frantically indicated.
He slumped slightly in his seat, uncertain if he should be gratified at her growing skills or vaguely threatened by them. An envelope of developed photos tucked under the emergency brake caught his eye and he opened it, scanning the pictures with an intensity of interest that still surprised him.
"What are these from?" he asked.
"Just a family picnic," Amanda replied off-handedly. She reached to take the pictures from Lee's grasp, but he drew them aside and twisted to keep them from her. "It took me forever to get them developed; they're from August."
"Something here you don't want me to see?" Lee mused teasingly. He flipped through the photos more quickly, resting on one of Phillip with his arm around a rather pretty girl. "Wow! When did Phillip get so big?" he wondered aloud.
Amanda chuckled. "Phillip was born big and he hasn't ever changed."
"I mean," Lee pressed, "when did he get so grown up? Who's the girl? Do you know her parents? Is she - ?" He caught himself in mid-stream, uncertain where the line was in expressing his growing concerns for Amanda's boys.
Amanda craned her neck to see the picture in question. "That one? That's Angela – girlfriend-of-the-week. He hasn't seen her since school started back."
"Oh," Lee murmured. He wondered why he was vaguely disappointed at not having met the passing girlfriend of a teen he technically didn't know.
"Lately Phillip reminds me of someone else I used to know," Amanda told him with gentle sarcasm. "He seems to have a new girlfriend every time I turn around."
Lee set the photos in his lap and shot her a wry look that quickly dissolved. "He obviously just hasn't met the right one, yet."
He tenderly tucked a lock of Amanda's hair back, marveling at the effect his compliment had – on both of them. Everything about Amanda seemed to soften still further and she practically glowed, though she was clearly trying to dampen the outward reactions to his approval. She glanced at him uncertainly and he melted. Each facet of their rapidly deepening relationship was so new and so infinitely precious to him. He shifted in his seat to stare at her more fully and marveled again at the emotions she stirred within him – love, yes certainly, but tenderness and fondness and a sense of belonging that had always escaped him before.
His movement upset the photos balanced in his lap. Several fell to the floor and a few slipped between his legs. The one remaining on his left thigh caught his attention.
"Aha!" he exclaimed. "This is the one you didn't want me to see." He brandished the picture of a very drenched Amanda in the air. She was flinching as Phillip and Jamie held an empty cooler over her head.
"Give me that!" Amanda snatched the photo from him with a light laugh.
"Oh, no!" Lee snatched it back. "I like this one. It's mine." He gave her his widest smile and tucked the picture inside his shirt.
"Lee . . ." Amanda warned fondly.
"You know, sometimes I wish . . ." he began, then glanced out the window as the Jeep rolled to a stop. "Oh, look! We're here."
"Here we are," Amanda agreed.
I sold what I could and I packed what I couldn't
Stopped to fill up on my way out of town
I've loved like I should but lived like I shouldn't
I had to lose everything to find out
Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road
I'm movin' on
"Agency Defensive Driving Manual, page 129, paragraph 3," Amanda intoned sagaciously as she preceded Lee into his new apartment, " 'An agent will always ensure that his vehicle shall never have less than one-half tank of fuel.'" She struggled to shake her purse off of her shoulder and onto the small table near the door without losing her grip on the cardboard box she held.
"A – man – da," Lee said, tolerantly exasperated. "Your Jeep is not exactly the best location to store wine for any length of time. You could have filled up later. There's the letter of the law and the spirit of the law, and sometimes you're way too concerned with the letter." He carefully placed his case of rare wines near the bar and squatted beside it.
"Exactly," she replied with a quick nod, "and the letter I was most concerned about was 'E.' What if something had come up on our way here? I was much closer to a quarter of a tank than a half; we might have been stranded somewhere, and it would have been my fault. And it was practically on our way here, Lee."
Lee regarded her with mock sternness as he pulled the first bottle – a Gattanara -- from its protective cocoon. Her intensity was admirable as well as absolutely adorable. Despite his best efforts, a chuckle burst forth and he shook his head at her narrowed eyes.
"I love you," he offered with delighted diplomacy. He marveled as her eyes softened and her lips parted into a soft round 'o.' He wondered how long it would take before those words ceased to elicit such a reaction – decades would be too soon. He stood and reached for her, needing the additional comfort and reassurance of her touch.
"I'm still right, you know," she told him, turning her head and denying him the kiss he leaned in for.
"I never said you weren't," he teased, still attempting to reach her lips. She seemed determined to evade him as her eyes roamed around his new home.
"Lee," Amanda began cautiously, "why all the new furniture, new apartment, new phone number? You actually had a good decorator for the last place. Why change?"
He tightened his hold on her, drew her head to his shoulder and laid his cheek against her hair. "Because I . . ." How could he explain to her what he had yet to put into words for himself? How to tell her that she was worth more than all the Randis and Jillians combined? How pathetic would it sound to say that when held her he didn't want to be thinking about the veritable harem that had paraded through his life?
"Amanda," he started once more, putting some distance between them so he could look into her eyes, "it was just time to, ah, move on – try something new. Besides, I have you now; what does all that other stuff matter?" He held her gaze, hoping his face would convey what his words could not – that while he couldn't honestly say that he regretted everything in his past, it was the past; and he was far more interested in the present – and the future – with her.
She regarded him tenderly, her eyes clearly searching his for a more complete answer. Lee held his breath, willing her to just understand, and not question. She always seemed to understand him better than anyone, often better than he did himself.
And then it seemed that she did understand. Her eyes never moved, but they were suddenly wider, deeper, even more welcoming, more open than usual. Lee felt himself falling into those depths, but he knew for certain that he wasn't lost, and he wasn't alone.
THE END