BALANCING ACT

"You know they're not trying to make you feel guilty," Amanda said, as they crossed the parking lot to the diner. Her coat whipped around her knees in the wind and she clutched it closed. Leaves skittered around their ankles as they walked — or rather, Lee strode — toward the door.

He wasn't angry, but he was full of pent-up nervous energy. It had become his natural state recently, she thought, as a tough case kept him working crazy hours all through the summer and into the fall. And now the boys had asked him to step out of the field, something that had come as a complete surprise to him (but not to her).

"Well I do, whether they intended it or not," he said, yanking the door open.

Amanda sighed and followed him into the warmth of the vestibule. She stood for a moment, smoothing her hair and catching her breath, studying the pastry case as she did. Her mother's cookies were there, in neat stacks: chocolate chip, ginger snaps sandwiched together with maple buttercream, and an empty spot where oatmeal had been. It was an oatmeal kind of day, she thought. No wonder they were all gone.

Lee was waiting impatiently for her so she squared her shoulders and moved to join him. His expression was tense, his brows drawn together and his hands shoved deep in his pockets. She knew it wasn't directed at her, but she also knew she was going to have to deal with result: the irritability that made him abrupt and sardonic.

He reached for her hand as she approached, and she took it, surprised, curling her icy fingers around his warm ones. "Sorry," he muttered.

"It's okay," she said, squeezing his hand.

"Not really. It's not your fault. I'm slipping into old habits."

"Well, maybe a hot dinner and a couple of days without work will help you slip back out of them."

"Yeah, about that, Amanda," he said, as they slid into a booth across from each other. "I'm going to have to go in tomorrow morning." Now she did see it: guilt, flickering across his features before he tucked it away again.

"Lee," she protested. "That's the third weekend in a row. You told Jamie you'd take him to the camera swap. In fact, you promised."

A local store was hosting an equipment swap, and Jamie had been talking about it for weeks, ever since the teacher leading the photography club at school had shown them the flyer. He didn't really want to get rid of anything, but the teacher had told him it was a great place to pick up old darkroom equipment, and he'd been saving up. The little darkroom he and Lee had set up over the garage had migrated to a room in the basement, which they'd roped Phillip into helping build. They'd all learned about framing walls and hanging doors and how essential the words "plumb" and "square" were to construction.

"I know, and I'll be back by noon. One at the latest." He shrugged off his coat. "Peterson's making headway but we need as many hands on deck as we can get."

She felt a rush of annoyance and paused in trying to take off her own coat to glare at him. "You said that last week, and then you came home at nine o'clock on Sunday night."

"I know. I know. I just couldn't leave—"

"You couldn't leave a team of perfectly capable agents to handle something on their own. I know." Amanda cringed inwardly at how sarcastic she sounded, but she was angry at how often they went in circles over this. She pushed him to step back, he said he wanted to, he stepped back for a few weeks and then a case came up and he dove in again. Headfirst, literally sometimes.

He sighed. "I don't want to fight," he said after a minute.

"I don't, either." Amanda sucked in a deep breath, about to say something else, then saw their waitress approaching the table, coffee pot ready. She nodded and flipped her cup over. It was later in the day than she liked to have coffee but she needed the warmth.

They sat silent, looking at their menus even though they almost always ordered the same thing.

"I know this is an important case," she said finally, shutting her menu and sliding it toward the end of the table. "But there are people working together on a team. You aren't doing it on your own. You need to let them do their jobs and you do yours."

"This is my job," he muttered.

"Lee." She pressed her hands into the table top, palms down, trying to push down the emotions that were building up in her chest. "You're supposed to be mentoring them, not doing it for them."

"Okay, okay. You're right, I guess. I have a hard time letting go of the reins."

"Yeah, you do."

"But it's only because this is a tough case. And you know how those are. I'm worried it's going to get away from us and compromise everything."

"You know Paul wouldn't let that happen. He'd ask for help first. They all would."

He reached to rub his forehead, and Amanda noticed with a jolt that he looked wearier than she'd thought. She wondered if he'd been powering through another headache. That would be just like him, to pretend everything was fine so he could get through the day. She reached for her purse and rooted around inside, finally pulling out the little bottle of pain reliever she always kept there.

"Here," she said, pressing two little pills into the palm of his hand.

"Thanks," he said. Amanda knew it must be bad if he wasn't arguing. He was better about stuff like that but old habits died hard and he always protested first.

"We can just go home and have soup if you want," she suggested. "If your head hurts. You need to take it easy."

"No." He swallowed the pills with a gulp of water and twined his fingers with hers. "You're right, I need to relax, and I need to relax with you the most. I feel like I haven't seen you for a month. We just pass in the hallways."

"Yeah, it does kind of feel like that lately."

"We were doing really well for a while there," he mused. "Though it's good to not have to make up stories about the editing booth anymore."

They had told the boys the truth about their jobs the week before, on a Friday night while Dotty was over for dinner. They'd been full of questions, of course — Jamie especially — but not as angry or upset as Amanda had expected. Jamie had been quiet and contemplative, and when they'd come back from a weekend with Dotty he and Phillip had told her they had some questions for Lee.

Unfortunately, Lee hadn't been home. He's been at the Agency, neck deep in this latest case, conferring with Billy about next steps. So they'd had to wait until Thursday night to ask their questions — basketball and track and math tests had gotten in the way — and Lee had been completely blindsided by it. They hadn't told Amanda what they wanted to ask and she hadn't pressed. It was between them, she'd told them. But she'd suspected, and she'd tried to talk to them about it beforehand, about how being in the field was something Lee felt he had to do, something he wasn't quite ready to stop doing yet.

Now she sighed and leaned back in the booth, taking a sip of coffee. "I know you miss being in the field full-time, and I told the boys I wasn't going to ask you to stop altogether because we promised we'd never ask each other to do that."

He nodded, and she wondered if he'd forgotten that promise and assumed she'd put them up to it.

"But they can't help how they feel," Amanda pushed on, "and I can't help wishing you'd just scale back a little. I've already watched one marriage take a backseat to work, and I really don't want to do it again."

"This isn't the same," he countered. "You're involved in the work this time."

"Normally," Amanda argued. "But this case has taken on a life of its own, and it's taken you with it. And you know I'm split between the Q and Analysis at large, and we're short as it is. I can't devote the amount of time to it that you keep asking me to."

"Amanda, it's a huge case. And it's coming to a head. I just need a few more days."

"That's what you said last week. And the week before." She felt her chest tightening and tried to relax. She saw their waitress approaching again and sucked in a deep breath. She hadn't really decided what she wanted yet but heard herself ordering a cheeseburger, feeling as surprised as Lee looked. She always insisted they were too big, but she'd missed lunch and breakfast had been a sad muffin and an acrid cup of coffee during an early briefing. She suspected Lee hadn't done much better.

She waited while he ordered his usual, smiling a little at the way he almost never deviated from his two or three favorites. For someone who took so many risks in life and had eaten in so many five-star restaurants, he sure got attached to his diner food. It was comfort food for him, she supposed, the way she gravitated to pot roast and succotash.

"Let's talk about something else," she said. "At least until we've both eaten something."

"Fair." He paused. "What do you think about taking the boys skiing again?"

"At Christmas? We'll never get a place now, will we?"

"I was thinking in January. They'd probably have to miss a day or two of school, but the resort we stayed at last year still has rooms."

Amanda frowned. She'd once had a hard rule about missing school but she'd learned to bend a little when she needed to. Her mother had nudged her along. And now here he was suggesting a way for them to spend more time together, even if it meant a day or two away from math and English, and she wasn't sure she could say no.

"I know how you feel about them taking days off during the school year, and I get it," he hurried on, catching her hand across the table. "But December is usually crazy up there, and this way we won't have to deal with so many lines."

"They might have a short week in January," she said slowly, trying not to think about the way he was running his thumb over her knuckles. "So we could book around that and make a four-day weekend." She chewed her lip, trying to warm to the idea. "And January's probably much cheaper, too, right?"

"A little." He paused. "If we book it, I'll make sure it sticks this time. I know we canceled our weekend away together three times this year and it's not fair to do that to them."

One of those times had been because of her, a last-minute out of town assignment that she would have refused if it hadn't been such a leap in responsibility. She felt a little flutter of guilt. He wasn't the only one who let his job get in the way.

"No," she said, "it's not."

"So once we book it, we book it."

"Right."

"I already put the bug in Billy's ear, just in case."

She felt her brows shoot up in surprise. "You did?"

"I just wanted to make sure I could take the time. I didn't commit to anything. Anyway, you know how he is. All for it." He grinned, and she mirrored his expression. "He'll probably tell me he's got the ski rental lined up next time I see him."

Amanda laughed at the thought. The tension in her shoulders eased even further as their waitress slid two plates, piled high with food, on the table in front of them. Her mouth instantly started watering at the sight of the burger and pile of crinkle-cut fries, her favorite, perfect and golden. She drew her hand away from Lee's and reached for one, so hungry she felt her entire body react as she chewed and swallowed.

"You okay over there?" Lee asked, smirking a little as she ate three in rapid succession.

"Starving," she admitted. "Probably why I'm getting cranky. I missed lunch."

He quirked a brow. "And you were just telling me I need to look after myself better?"

"I know — pot, kettle, whatever." She took a bite of the burger and sighed. It was topped with a beefy slice of tomato, crisp lettuce, and onion, and sloppy with condiments she knew were going to end up on her chin. No wonder the boys ordered it all the time. "But you do need to look after yourself better. Now eat your sandwich."

He already was, of course. There had never been a dinner at The Pie Plate that he hadn't finished or made sure included pie. She knew that. She thought of one of the first times they'd been there as a couple — not as friends — when she'd teased him a little for always saving room for dessert. Something she hadn't done with the burger, she knew.

"Get some pie to go," he suggested, when she mentioned it to him.

"You always suggest I do that, and then I put it in the fridge and it gets eaten," she said, laughing. "And not by me."

"Don't look at me," he said. "Talk to those two teenage boys you have living in the house."

There they were, back at Phillip and Jamie.

"You really think you can be back in time to take Jamie tomorrow afternoon?" Amanda ventured, wiping her hands on a napkin. "He's been looking forward to this thing for weeks."

"Yes," he said firmly. He dipped the end of his sandwich in au jus. "I'll make sure I am."

"You know he's going to give you the gears about…."

Lee sighed. He set down his sandwich and brushed crumbs from his fingertips. "Yeah," he said, reaching for his water glass. "I know."

"And what are you going to tell him?"

"That I'm not quitting right now. I can't." Lee hesitated. "I want to explain to them why I do it. Do you think they'll understand?"

"I don't know."

He sighed.

"Oh, look, you know I understand. Mother understands. They just worry. They want you around as long as possible, just like I do." She thought about eating a French fry, then decided against it. "But I also know it might be easier to convince them if they see you scale back a little. Like we talked about. Let the team carry the load. There are six agents and one of you."

He opened his mouth, then closed it, and turned his attention back to the last bites of his sandwich. She knew he was weighing his words — and hers — carefully, contemplating them with each bite.

She wondered if he'd ever find something he loved as much as being out in the middle of everything. She had thought maybe it would have lost its appeal — for a while after they'd gotten married (again) he seemed to put family first, even as he was busy building a new team in the Q-Bureau. But then there'd been a change in the team roster, and a period where they'd been down an agent, and he'd stepped up to fill the gap. And as the summer went on he'd started work on this case, which involved a double agent and a whole tangle of bureaucracy, and now he was back where he'd been when she met him, all wild hours and erratic schedules.

"I can't let this case go," he said after a minute. "Anna Dvornak reminds me too much of you."

Amanda blinked, mid-bite, and set her burger down. "Of me? How?"

He shrugged. "She came late to the game. She had two kids. She believed in doing the right thing. She even looked a little like you."

"We had the same coloring, I guess. But that's about it." Anna had been tiny, maybe five-two. She kept her hair short and she liked to wear bright red lipstick. Amanda had met her once, at an Agency debrief when she had first come to DC. Anna had disappeared in September and her body had been found by hikers in Shenandoah National Park two weeks later. They all knew the KGB was likely responsible, and that her mission in DC had probably been a trap, but proving it was next to impossible.

"I need to get to the bottom of it," he said, a familiar edge to his voice. "They shouldn't be able to get away with it."

"I know you do, but you don't need to do it on your own. I thought you gave up this lone wolf business ages ago."

"I have connections Peterson and Willard and the rest of them don't have — connections I spent fifteen years establishing."

Amanda nodded, sighing. She ate the last bite of her burger and slid her plate to one side. The case was the kind that made her look back on her choices in ways that made her slightly uncomfortable. She knew Lee didn't want to say it, but she could very easily have left her own children in the same position as Anna's if things had gone wrong somewhere. She'd made decisions that had put her in danger's path, more than once — even as a civilian auxiliary. She couldn't judge Anna for making those same decisions.

She couldn't judge Lee for it, either. Not without feeling like a hypocrite. She understood the guilt he was feeling, just as she understood the reason her sons had asked him to quit.

She watched him polish off the last of his fries. "It's a real balancing act, isn't it?"

"Family, you mean?" He smirked. "I'll say." He set down his fork and leaned against the back of the booth. "I know what you're saying. And you're right. It's not just about me anymore and I guess sometimes I — well, I don't forget, but I figure everyone will understand and probably not even notice if I'm not there."

"That's silly."

"Yeah, I guess it is." He shrugged. "Like I said, old habits."

"Phillip and Jamie set you straight, didn't they?"

"As an arrow." His tone was light but there was something in his expression that tugged at her heart. She sometimes forgot how little experience he had with being part of a family — he was discovering the sense of obligation could be just as strong as the sense of comfort.

"Good," she said, reaching out to catch his hand. This time her thumb moved across his knuckles. "So you know why they're asking what they're asking."

"Yeah. I know."

"And you know why I'm not asking what they're asking."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I know that, too." He turned his hand over in hers and meshed their fingers together, and she knew he was ending the conversation. He'd talk to Jamie, and he'd talk to Phillip, and he'd keep chipping away at the Dvornak case until Billy pulled him off or they had some concrete proof. "And now I have a question."

"What's that?"

"Do you still have room for pie?"