It was the second full day of Lee's enforced rest and he was lying on the sofa thanking God for Billy Melrose's idea to saddle him with Amanda as his boss for the week. He knew Billy had added in her temporary promotion as a bit of a humorous rebuke for his hospital break-out but of course, Amanda hadn't let him off the hook, taking the whole thing a shade too seriously. That whole thing with the pills last night, scolding him like he was one of her boys and not a grown man... But today - well today he had to admit that Amanda's quiet determination to act as his personal prison warden was a blessing.
He'd slept in and been woken by the searing pain of a migraine headache. He'd slowly become aware of a noise that was penetrating the pain, a repetitive knocking sound that wouldn't let him fall back asleep and then he'd realized he could hear Amanda's voice calling his name with increasing urgency. The last thing he'd wanted right then was to pull himself upright out of the bed and the second last thing was to have to talk to anybody, not even Amanda, but he'd known she wouldn't give up until he answered her.
He'd dragged himself to the door, fighting the nausea the whole way, fumbling with the locks, until he'd finally managed to get the door open and squint at his partner, standing in the hallway, holding a grocery bag in one arm. He'd braced himself for chatter, but instead of her usual cheerful good morning, she'd simply looked him over with a furrowed brow as he swayed, gripping the door for balance.
"Oh no. Come on, Honey," she'd said, much as she had that day months before in the bowling alley when he'd been freaking out over Operation Possum. She'd steered him into the kitchen, dropped the bag on the counter and started sorting through the pill bottles they'd left out the night before. "Okay, so you haven't taken the antibiotic yet this morning but what about the pain reliever?" she'd asked.
He'd made a disgusted expression – he didn't like the feeling they gave him, like his brain was furry around the edges.
"You'll be better with them," she'd answered simply as if he'd actually spoken. "It's written all over your face, Lee. Your pupils are like pinpricks, you're grey under your tan and you're sweating in a room that's only 68 degrees. Now these are just extra-strength pain relief with a bit of codeine. No addiction, no fuzzy head." She held them out and waited for him to take them. "You know all I have to do is tell Billy you're still not fit and he'll make this last longer," she threatened.
He'd wanted to glare at her but it had made his head hurt so he'd finally swallowed them, gracelessly obeying when she'd said "Drink the whole glass – you need to stay hydrated. Now don't worry, concussions sometimes just get bad again if you don't look after them right the first time which you definitely didn't – but you'll start feeling better soon. You just need to rest properly." Then, instead of continuing to bother him, she had simply turned to the grocery bag and started to empty it out. "Okay, now shoo. I have some baking I was going to do here anyway and get something going for you for dinner tonight. You go lie down. Pull the curtains – you'll feel better in the dark."
He'd stood in the doorway, unable to come to a decision about where to go. He had thought it would be annoying to have Amanda hovering like a mother hen, but now that she was ignoring him, he couldn't help feeling a little hurt. He wandered over to the coffee table and picked up the remote to flip on the television, only to hear her call out from the kitchen, "No TV! It's bad for the concussion!"
He hunched defensively and ignored her, only to have her appear beside him, and take the remote out of his hand and turn it off herself. "Come on," she said gently, pushing him back onto the sofa. "Lie down," she ordered. She pulled the curtains closed, then moved to the shelf of records by his turntable, flipping through them until she found what she was looking for. Lee lay down on the sofa, placing himself so that he could still see at least some of the kitchen and tried to relax. A few seconds later, the sounds of Bach filled the apartment.
"No Verdi," he heard her soft chuckle as she threw a blanket over him as she passed him on her way back to the kitchen. "Opera's not good for a headache," she'd murmured. "All that wailing and crying is way too stressful."
He knew he'd drifted off at some point, waking to find his head was pounding less and that Amanda must have flipped the album to the other side while he slept. He let the music wash over him, listening to the sounds of her puttering, humming quietly along with the string section as she moved around. He could smell something delicious and tested the concept of eating in his head, comforted that his stomach didn't turn over at the thought the way it had when he'd woken up this morning. In fact, quite the opposite, he was ravenously hungry. He sat up, shifting slightly so that he could watch her. She had that intent look on her face, the one she got when she was concentrating on a file, biting her lip occasionally and pushing her hair off her face with the back of her hand. She had a smudge of something on her cheek and even from here he could see the curve of her lashes as she looked down at the counter at whatever she was working on.
He found himself wondering what people back at the Agency thought about her absence from the office, about this assignment. It was pretty unlikely that anyone pictured this: him dozing on the couch while she baked cookies for her kids. No, he knew that, safe from being overheard by either of them, the innuendoes would be flying – unless, of course, Francine stepped in, in her new self-appointed role as Amanda's protector. She'd given him an earful while he'd been driving her home from the hospital, making it clear that Amanda had in fact had no idea at all what most people thought their relationship was, and that he should have been doing a better job of stamping out the rumors. He hadn't thought Amanda was that innocent, had thought she'd simply been as content as he was to just ignore the jokes but apparently she'd actually been virtually unaware, safe in the self-deprecating certainty that she was so obviously not his type that it was impossible for anyone to make that assumption.
"You're supposed to be her friend!" Francine had snapped at him. "Why would you let people think that if it wasn't true?"
He'd gaped at her, startled by both the unexpected attack and the source before turning his eyes back to the road. "What makes you think it isn't true?" he'd fallen back on the old standby of trying to throw her off base with outlandish comments about Amanda.
"Lee! It's not funny!" He glanced sideways, surprised by the vehemence of her anger with him. "She sees you as some sort of white knight and you're not living up to your side of the bargain!"
"Well it's not like I'm the one spreading those rumors," he tried to defend himself. "I can't help it if people are just naturally inclined to think the worst."
"Oh, like you think it's the worst for people to think she's sleeping with you? Gimme a break – it's a big boost to your ego for people to think she only has eyes for you. You know half the guys in the office have asked her out and been told no."
"That's not true! The ego thing, I mean – and anyway, how is it my fault if she doesn't want to date? It's not like she doesn't know what I'm like."
"Oh yes, she's perfectly aware she's not your type," Francine spat at him. "And God knows why she'd want you anyway when your boots have been under every bimbo's bed in town – but letting people talk like that is just letting them make her look dumb – and you know better than most, that's not true."
"I don't know why you're so high and mighty about this," he went on the attack. "You've been making those same cracks for years."
"And you never said anything to stop me, did you?" she shot back. "Oh no, you were perfectly happy to make comments about the stamina of the average housewife with the best of us."
He winced, remembering that particular joke, made back long before he'd even started to become friends with Amanda. "Fine," he replied finally. "And how exactly do I put a stop to the rumors now without making it look like either I dumped her or that she's been living a crazy housewife fantasy for the last two and half years? No one's going to believe any kind of denial anyway."
Francine glared at him, then slumped back in the passenger seat, grunting in annoyance. "I don't know," she said. "Look all I'm saying is, she's paid a pretty steep price trying to be a good partner to you – and it's about time you started making good on that debt."
By that time, they'd pulled up outside Francine's condo and he was helping her out of the car.
"What brought all this on anyway?" he'd asked her. "You've always been the first to complain that Amanda's too soft for this business because people should stand on their own two feet and not rely on anyone!" and watched an odd expression flit across her face so quickly that he thought he might have imagined it.
"She grew on me," Francine shrugged. "She's tougher than she looks – and she brings me chocolate and burritos – what's not to like?"
His uneasiness hadn't lessened with her flippant answer. What had happened between the two of them that had Francine making such a 180?
"That's it? A few boxes of truffles and you're suddenly her biggest champion?" he asked, watching her through narrowed eyes.
"Someone has to be," she practically hissed at him, snatching her crutches out of his hand and hobbling toward her front door. "It sucks enough to be a woman in this job and prove yourself every day without also having to deal with crap alone."
"What kind of crap? What has she said to you?" He was certain now that Francine knew more than she was letting on, especially when she didn't answer, too busy making a show of hunting for her keys and unlocking the door to meet his eyes.
"Look," she said finally, "I'm not saying you're to blame exactly – but you need to step up and look after her better. She's better at shielding you from stuff she's had to deal with than you realize and she shouldn't have to do it all by herself. I told her she should book some time with Claudia – you need to make sure she does."
He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach, certain now that Amanda had let slip something to Francine that she was still keeping from him. Rationally he could understand why – that it might have been easier to tell a woman, even if it was Francine - but emotionally, it was still a kick in the gut. He looked up to meet icy blue eyes surveying him.
"Understood," he answered and she'd nodded with satisfaction, before reaching out to pat his cheek.
"Don't worry, Stetson, you can't be that much of a brainless Scarecrow. You got Amanda to stick with you despite everything, that's gotta mean something."
That's gotta mean something.
Amanda turned her head, as if she'd suddenly felt his gaze and met his eyes, face lighting up with an easy smile that made his heart flip. "Hey there," she said, reaching to pick something up off the counter and walk toward him. "I was just getting ready to wake you. I made you lunch – you probably didn't eat any breakfast did you?"
He shook his head, remembering too late that moving his head was a bad idea, relieved when it didn't make the room spin as badly as it had earlier. She perched on the sofa beside him, placing a plate with an egg salad sandwich and a glass of milk in front of him before turning to study his face, nodding with whatever she saw or didn't see there.
"Feeling better?" she asked, not in the least perturbed when he just nodded and didn't speak. "Mother's recipe," she went on, gesturing at the sandwich. "The secret ingredient is watercress. Makes it kind of peppery. I think you'll like it."
He leaned forward and picked it up, biting into the cool filling and feeling the tingle on his tongue she'd warned him about. It seemed familiar and comforting somehow and he couldn't think why until she added, "It's a British thing apparently – Mother read somewhere that the Queen won't eat egg salad without it, so of course we had to try it. I thought your mom probably would have made it that way too."
He nodded, mouth too full of sandwich to do anything else.
"Good," she said, smiling warmly at him. "Okay, I'm going to go finish the batch of cookies I've got on the go for my book club meeting tonight." She paused and studied his face, reaching out to rest her hand against his forehead with a thoughtful expression. "I was going to suggest going out for some fresh air, but it's really sunny and I don't think you should chance it just yet. Your eyes still look funny."
Even just the idea of going out into bright light made him blench so she patted him on the arm and got up. "That's what I thought. You finish your lunch and I'll finish in the kitchen and we'll just do something quiet, okay?"
He didn't know how Amanda knew exactly what to do with someone with a concussion, but it was incredibly restful the way she was just there. He finished the sandwich and drained the glass of milk, already feeling the relief of a full stomach and leaned back to rest his head against the sofa cushions, watching her continue to move around the kitchen, stirring something on the stove, leaning down to pull the cookies out. The mouth-watering smell hit him afresh and he had just enough energy to wonder if she was going to be taking all the cookies with her when she left tonight for that meeting.
He closed his eyes slowly, to take in a deep breath, and when he opened them again, the light had shifted direction somehow and Amanda was no longer in his sightline. Confused, he turned his head and found her curled up at the opposite end of the sofa, reading.
"Welcome back." Her dark eyes were somehow shining even in the dim light. The curtains were still drawn, but the shadows told him at least an hour had passed. "You really needed that. Never thought I'd see the day you'd sleep through me bringing you cookies." She nodded to the plate on the coffee table. "I'll get you some more milk. You're not drinking enough with all this sleep." She went to the kitchen, returning with a brimming glass and a pill that she put beside the plate. "You can have another Tylenol if you need one, but your color is better. You're probably going through caffeine withdrawal too, but coffee isn't good for you right now so you're just going to have to survive."
He took the glass meekly and swallowed the pill, then picked up a pair of cookies, aware that she was settling back into the corner of the sofa.
"I found your stash of Louis L'Amour," she confided. "My dad used to read these all the time but we gave them all to the hospice after J.C. died so it's been ages since I picked one up. I'm guessing this is your favorite since it's the most bent out of shape. Although I guess it could have been Andy's – he was a Texas boy, wasn't he?" She held up a battered copy of The Tall Stranger. "Anyway, you shouldn't be reading yet, but I figure you can just lie there and listen, if you'd like? You did ask for a story last night after all."
He liked the way she was teasing him so gently, like she knew he couldn't get his mind together enough to defend himself.
She settled back against the cushions and began to read out loud quietly, her soft slight Southern drawl matching the cadence of the text perfectly. "With slow, ponderously rhythmical steps the oxen moved, each step a pause and an effort, each movement a deadening drag…"
Ironically, that was exactly how he was feeling himself. Lee felt his eyes drift shut, as the familiar story and the much loved voice washed over him like warmth.
"Okay, there's stew and biscuits on the stove and promise me you won't forget to take your antibiotics with it because it needs to go with food. I wish I didn't have this meeting tonight but I promised to bring the cookies and I can't miss it. I'm taking your keys so I can let myself in in the morning so you don't have to get up just to open the door if you're still asleep. Also, I don't trust you not to decide you can drive or something dumb." She waved his key ring at him as she put on her coat. "So don't go out and forget that you can't get back in. Or if you do, at least keep a dime in your pocket so you can call me for help. Now have I forgotten anything or do you need anything else before I go?" He shook his head and she turned to leave. "Okay, see you in the morning, Junior Agent," she chuckled.
"Amanda?" he cleared his throat, amazed at how gravelly his voice sounded. "Thank you for staying here today and…" he paused. "Thank you for mothering me, I guess."
Her face lit up with pleasure and she stepped forward to kiss his cheek lightly. "You're welcome. I'm glad you're feeling better and I'm sure you'll feel even more like yourself tomorrow. Good night, Lee."
"Good night Amanda." His voice still sounded hoarse and his throat was weirdly tight and scratchy.
It was only after the door had closed and he could hear her footsteps fading away down the hallway that he realized that those few sentences had been the first time he'd spoken out loud the entire day.