Treading Water

Author: NancyY

Disclaimer: SMK and its characters are copyrighted creations. This story was conceived and written for entertainment purposes. No copyright infringement is intended.

Timeframe: Second year

Rating: PG-13

Special thanks to Miriam for her patience with the original two versions, and to Jenni Lee Ryan, Taya, and Rita for their input, and valuable comments. Vikki, your kind suggestions are helping to improve my new one.


Chapter 1 - Dangerous Ground

What a wonderful morning. First, the frantic search for Jamie's geography homework, and then the missing shoe--how could it have ended up in the planter? When her car wouldn't start and she had to hitch a ride with the Ferguson's teenage son, well . . .

Amanda hated to be late.

She tossed her wet raincoat over the back of her desk chair and jogged toward Billy's office, counting the steps and hoping she wouldn't be the last one to arrive.

Easing the door open, she froze. Billy looked up from his notes, eyeing her from over the top of his reading glasses, and chagrin blushed Amanda's cheeks as she edged along the wall and slipped into the only unoccupied chair. "I'm so sorry . . . "

He adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose. "As I was saying, WellSpring Laboratories reported Doctor Mueller missing seventy-two hours ago."

"Since when is the Agency involved in a missing person case? Isn't this one for the local boys?" Lee slouched against the back wall with both hands in his pockets. His tie was askew, and Amanda's fingers itched to straighten it.

She tried to catch his eye, but he didn't look her way. Clothed in "bottom of the hamper" chic, the rumpled shirt and creased jacket added a certain spice to his ensemble. Even his socks looked mismatched. Dark circles under his eyes testified to a chronic lack of sleep, and she wondered what caused those restless nights. Or who.

Dangerous ground. Better not go there.

Billy plucked a photo from the file on his desk and held it up. "This little device is a Phial--a prototype developed by WellSpring to grow and transport hazardous biological compounds. On a larger scale, this technology could make it feasible to store and transport biological weapons."

Amanda studied the picture. It looked like her Aunt Lillian's silver compact. Such a small thing, to be so dangerous.

"WellSpring security conducted a review of Dr. Mueller's division after he was reported missing. Two weeks ago, there were ten of these small prototypes, and today, only nine are accounted for. I don't have to tell you the danger of this technology falling into the wrong hands." Billy dropped the picture on his desk and leaned back in his chair.

"All right, people, let's get to it," he said. "Lee, I want you to use your contacts to identify the foreign operatives currently in D.C. And dig up what you can on their activities for the last three months."

He slid the file across his desk to Francine. "Check into Mueller's background. His friends, hangouts, and bank accounts. Hell, shake his family tree and see if anything rotten falls out. He's our only link."

"Amanda, you'll review the last two weeks of surveillance video at WellSpring. I want to know when Dr. Mueller came and went, what he did, who he's spoken with, and when he blew his nose. We're looking for patterns here, people, anything we can tie to our other sources."

"Do I have a cover?" she asked, leaning forward. Maybe this time . . .

Billy's smile and the arched eyebrow were disconcerting, and Amanda didn't see the humor. It was a perfectly legitimate question.

"I don't think that's necessary, this time," Billy said. "Your contact at WellSpring will be the director of Dr. Mueller's division. He knows who you are, and he'll arrange for you to view the tapes. Keep in touch with Lee and Francine. If there are any developments, they can re-direct your search."

"Yes sir. I'll . . . I'll be happy to do that." She hoped she didn't sound as disappointed as she felt. It was hard to look forward to sitting alone in a dark corner and digging through mounds of data. Just another routine research assignment.

Francine smirked. "Oh, come on, Billy, she could pass as a secretary. You know--drudgery, dictation, a few games of 'chase-me-around-the-boss's-desk.'"

Amanda tried to ignore the barb but winced at the sarcasm. Over the past two weeks, the taunts had escalated and were delivered without the usual cold humor. Avoiding Francine's pointed glare, she watched Lee out of the corner of her eye. So far, he hadn't even glanced her way.

"That's enough, Francine," Billy said, with a look that promised a confrontation. "Can we get back on task here?"

Lee's gaze finally settled on Amanda, but his expression was closed and unreadable. "Shouldn't a trained agent like Francine work this one?"

"No." Billy's tone was firm. "Any more questions?"

Lee plowed his fingers through his damp hair. "Wait a minute, I think--"

"Scarecrow, that's enough. The decision is mine. This is a routine assignment, and Amanda's certainly capable of handling it on her own."

Lee was watching her again. Listening to his familiar argument, Amanda felt all the old hurt surface, but she returned Lee's scrutiny with forced detachment. Over the last two weeks--ever since the Vincenti case--he seemed to dismiss her work. They'd been making progress as a team; she was sure of it. So, what was Lee's problem? She wasn't about to let him run this avoidance pattern much longer.

"All right, if that's everything, I think you all have work to do." Billy remained behind his desk. "Francine, you stay."

As Amanda hurried out the door, she didn't meet Francine's pointed glare.


Without lifting his head, Billy watched Francine out of the corner of his eye. She was fidgeting in her chair, trying to look nonchalant and failing miserably. Good. Knocking her off guard would make this little sermon less painful, at least for him. After several long seconds, he cleared his throat.

"Yes, sir?" Her mask dropped into place. Cool, professional, with just a hint of worry. Even better.

"Let's cut straight to the chase. I thought you and Amanda had called a truce." He allowed his frown to soften and let his concern surface. "Look, Francine, I have enough to think about. With Scarecrow degenerating before my eyes--"

"It's about Lee . . ." All pretence dropped away. "I'm worried about him, Billy, I have been since the Vincenti case. I was there. I saw his expression when he walked out of that storage unit. It was Jacob, all over again."

Billy massaged his temples. "What set him off?"

"Amanda. Doing what Amanda does best--ignoring protocol."

"She followed her instincts, and she was right. If she hadn't followed Lee inside--"

"Billy, don't you always tell us that instinct is no substitute for training?"

While he believed in training and procedure, Mrs. King had a way of knocking the rulebook on its ear, in creative and often successful ways. He took the easy route and answered her question with another. "So, you blame her for Lee's current crisis, because she followed her instincts--?"

"No." Francine clenched her fists and leaned forward. "I blame her for ignoring Lee's reasonable request that she stay in the car and out of the line of fire. I blame her for wandering in there without a clue. I blame her for endangering his life during that firefight . . . and . . . and I blame her for being oblivious to all the trouble she's caused."

"Is that everything?" he asked.

"Isn't that enough?"

"You don't blame her for being there with Lee in the first place?"

She broke the eye contact. "Well . . . maybe that, too. None of this would have happened if a trained agent had been with him. If I'd . . . " Her eyes met his again, and most of the anger was gone. "Look, Billy, I don't have anything against Amanda personally. I'm sure that in her own little world she's competent. But she's just a suburban housewife. She's not equipped for this."

"She's done very well so far. You've said so yourself."

"That was before I saw the look on Lee's face. She walked out of that storage unit beside him, but when he looked at her, he saw Jacob. I was there when his partner died, Billy, and it was all there again, in his eyes. Believe me, I know what I saw."

He sighed. "I'm not doubting you. Okay. Let's take this one step at a time. You don't blame Amanda for Jacob's death, do you?"

"Of course not, she wasn't working here then, but--"

"And you don't really know what set Lee off, do you? It could be the time of year, the location, any one of a number of things, right?"

She nodded, not meeting his eyes.

"You can't protect Lee by pushing Amanda. Get it?"

"Got it." Francine stood. She didn't look repentant, and he could see storm clouds brewing on the horizon.

As the door closed behind her, Billy pulled the Tums bottle from his top drawer and shook it. Empty. He'd need more, maybe a couple of bottles. He should, and probably would, order Lee back to Doctor Pfaff, but it hadn't helped much the last time. Lee had crawled out of the depression that had consumed him after Jacob's death on his own, and he'd buried himself in his work--and women. What would it take this time?

He turned the empty bottle over in his hands. Could you get this stuff in bulk?


Two very, very long days. Sixteen hours trapped in this tiny, windowless room, with only shelf after dusty shelf of videos for company. Amanda forced herself to pop another cassette into the player. Feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to get the job done.

When she closed her eyes, she could still see the images. She blinked and massaged her temples to push back the incipient headache. A hundred grainy surveillance tapes and she was no closer to discovering the whereabouts of Dr. Mueller or the missing Phial. Oh, there was information here, all right. She knew who was having lunch with whom and all the clandestine office romances. It had been an education, really. Who knew that you could do that with a copier? And that thing on the CEO's desk had been creative but couldn't have been as uncomfortable as it looked.

A tentative tap on the door and a curly, blonde head popped in. It was attached to a gawky, young man, with big blue eyes and an unfortunate Adam's apple that bobbed every time he spoke. "Mrs. K.?"

"Yes?" Amanda fumbled for his name, but it eluded her. He was one of a matched set of earnest youngsters that worked in the mailroom.

"Jason and I wanted to, um, thank you for the cookies. They were great!" He ducked his head and grinned. "Do you think they'll let you stay on after you organize all this stuff?"

"I'm not sure. I'm here as a temp, and you know how these projects go." She hated to stretch the truth. He was such a sweet boy. "I'm glad you liked them."

"Yeah. We're not supposed to eat down there, you know--the crumbs and stuff--so we hid them. Any time you wanna make more, we'll help you with 'em." He reminded her of Jamie, all knees and elbows, with a goofy grin. She could see her sons, in a few years, nibbling oatmeal cookies at work and hiding the evidence.

"I'll remember that." The door shut behind him. Back to work.

Glancing at her watch, she willed the hour hand to jump to twelve. Still forty-five minutes until she'd see Lee. Not a date, of course--more of a working lunch. Still . . . it would be nice. If the mechanic dropped off her car as promised, she'd make it to DeGrazio's with time to spare.

She wouldn't bring up the cookies at lunch, although she wanted to. Lee was wrong, anyway. It was easier to keep a low profile by fitting in than hiding alone in a room all day. So what if he'd said the cookies were a bad idea? It hadn't stopped him from sneaking a couple when he thought she wasn't looking.

If she was lucky, he'd be in a better mood. He almost had to be.

She forced her attention back to the tape. Ah, wait--there was Dr. Mueller, walking through the main lobby. Odd. She'd never seen that guard before. Popping in tape after tape, she followed the sequence of events, trailing first Mueller, and then the strange guard--from the office, to the lobby, to the parking structure.

Hmm. Who was the woman in the parking lot? And what did the guard give her? Interesting.

Amanda leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. At last--something. She'd deliver the tapes to the Agency research team on her way to lunch.


Sitting on the terrace under the spreading trees, Lee listened to the occasional raindrop cut loose from the broad leaves and splash against the canvas overhead. As he slouched under a large, yellow umbrella that shaded the small table at DeGrazio's Cafe, he checked his watch for the third time. And waited.

She was late. Again.

His heels tapped a staccato beat on the wet cobblestones, first one foot, and then the other. After several minutes of throat clearing from the next table, he realized he was tapping both heels at the same time and forced himself to stop. A moment later, his fingertips took up the same rhythm.

Where was she? He scanned the sidewalk beyond the ornate railing and finally spotted Amanda rushing up the street. He raised his hand to wave, and she nodded and hurried over, plopping down in the chair next to him.

"I'm so sorry, Lee, but I had to drop off some tapes over at Research before I came. I think it might be important."

He had to smile at her enthusiasm.

"And I had to park three blocks away." She grabbed for a glass of water, catching the rim instead and almost spilling it.

While she apologized and dabbed at the tablecloth with a napkin, he slid the glass closer. She needed it more than he did.

After several gulps, the story bubbled out. "You know, he never leaves the building during the day, but then I saw him leave. He met a guard, and then I thought that I should see where the guard went and that maybe he went to the parking structure, since he was going in that direction, so I pulled the parking tapes for the same time, and sure enough--he was there, and a woman with dark hair spoke with him, but, of course, I didn't recognize her . . . "

When she came up for air, he started to reply and then shook his head. He couldn't keep up. "Let's get back to the Agency and take a look." Lee slipped his hand under her elbow and started to stand--and almost lost his balance.

He was anchored to an immovable object. "Amanda, come on, let's go."

She sat in stony silence, and he studied her face. Oh, lord . . . now what? She had that expression. He just couldn't take that one--not today. Thumping down into the chair, he rubbed his eyes with his free hand and tried to curb his annoyance.

"Okay, what's wrong?" She had this way of making him feel like a . . . well . . . a child.

"What--what about lunch?" The plaintive catch in her voice cut through his frustration.

Surprised at himself, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. Why was he so impatient today? Amanda hadn't done anything wrong--not yet, anyway--even if the Corvette still smelled like a bakery. Ease up, Stetson.

He felt some of his tension evaporate and relaxed for the first time that day. The sudden absence of stress was almost painful. "I promised you lunch, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did."

Realizing that his hand was still on her arm, he decided to leave it there. They were friends, after all. He and Amanda could sit here, under the colorful umbrella, and watch the pedestrians stroll by. They could share a pleasant lunch on a damp spring day. Couldn't they? Besides, he was hungry. Those oatmeal cookies he'd snagged for breakfast had worn off hours ago.

"Lunch it is then."