A BIT OF A DRAGON SLAYER

"Wow," Francine said, as she pulled out a chair across the table from Amanda. "You are in a mood."

Amanda blinked, clearly surprised, and Francine saw irritation move across her face like a storm cloud on a sunny day. "Sorry," she muttered.

"Trouble in paradise?" Francine asked, using that sweet voice she knew set Amanda's teeth on edge. She really shouldn't tease, especially when she had it on good authority that everything was just fine in paradise, but something inside her — what Lee called her unfulfilled older sister — made it impossible for her to stop.

Amanda shot her a dark look across the table, that storm cloud making a repeat pass.

"I'm kidding," Francine said.

"I know you are. I'm surprised you consider that your best material." Amanda opened her menu, then closed it again. "What happened to all your one-liners about the PTA, or bake sales, or knitting? I kind of miss the ones about knitting."

"They're no fun when you like them." Francine flipped over her coffee cup, then flipped it back. She'd already had three cups that morning and she could feel the caffeine coursing through her veins, creating a low-level humming that had turned from a pleasant buzz to chemically-induced anxiety. "Is this because your ex is in town?"

"No," Amanda said. "And I don't want to talk about Joe being here, if you don't mind. Not because it's too personal or anything but because I'm getting really tired of the topic."

"I suppose that's fair." Francine knew that Amanda's ex was staying for two weeks — Lee had told her (over a coffee in the break room) that his visits always threw a wrench into the rhythm of their lives, and not always a good one. But instead of commenting, Francine bent over her menu, trying to decide between salads. Cobb or Wedge, or something else. "Oh, look," she said, "they have new greens."

"Do they?" Amanda asked, her menu still closed tight on the table in front of her.

"Cranberries, walnuts, and mandarin orange segments nestled in a bed of spinach, arugula, and romaine and dressed with a balsamic vinaigrette. They're getting fancy. Lee's going to hate that." Mind made up, she closed the menu and looked up at her companion. "Are you mad at me?"

She and Amanda had been working a case together, one that ended up crossing multiple jurisdictions, and Amanda was getting a taste of interagency relations. In particular, what a minefield they could be when some agents were involved. Francine had thought the meetings with the other groups had gone surprisingly well so far, but that morning she'd had to duck out of one for an emergency call from Billy, and when she'd rejoined the temperature in the room had been decidedly frosty.

"No, of course not." Amanda pushed her menu aside, her expression softening. "I'm sorry, I'm really just irritable today and it's got nothing to do with you."

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"I'm sure."

"It might help."

"Francine," Amanda said, closing her eyes momentarily. "I really don't."

Francine held up her hands, conciliatory. "Fine."

Their waitress came to take their order and Francine had thought the conversation would turn to something else — office gossip, weekend plans, one of Amanda's funny little stories about her mother's new boyfriend. Instead, Amanda sat tense and silent, her fingers rolling the edge of her paper napkin over and over again.

Francine waited. Amanda could be what she herself called a motormouth when she was frightened or anxious, but when something else was bothering her she could clam right up. It had taken a while for Francine to get a handle on it, but she knew there was no sense in pushing. Amanda was worse than Lee when she didn't want to talk about something. All she could do was wait for something to break the silence. She saw Brenda at the coffee station across the room and wondered if, on top of four languages, she also knew telepathy, then willed her to come to their table, just in case.

The diner was almost full — full enough they'd been relegated to a table in the middle of the room, and Francine sat studying the patrons around them. The man to her left, who was doing a crossword as he ate soup and a sandwich. The elderly couple behind Amanda, sitting across from each other in a booth and talking about someone named Chad and his new car. The two middle-aged women in the booth behind the couple, who looked to be fresh from a salon visit. Francine liked observing people now and then. She had discounted it as useful for a long time, until she'd come here with Lee once — now, on the rare occasions they were here together, they made a game of it.

Amanda drew in a deep breath. Here it comes, Francine thought. Confessional.

"I blew it in the meeting this morning." Amanda said.

"What are you talking about!"

"I got distracted this week and Agent Doyle made a connection I should've made ages ago." Amanda scowled at the table in front of her. "It was right there."

"Isn't that why we're all working together? You're usually the first to extol the virtues of collaboration."

"She was awfully rude about it."

"That's Doyle for you," Francine said.

"I mean, I thought you could be bad, but —" Amanda shook her head.

"Hey," Francine protested, though she wasn't hurt. She liked her ice-queen reputation, for the most part. It served her well.

"I know you like everything a certain way, is all," Amanda went on, by way of apology. "But that woman made me feel as if I didn't belong there at all. She was so condescending." She paused as their waitress approached, and her expression relaxed a little as she saw it was Brenda. Francine wondered if her telepathic SOS had worked after all.

"You two look awfully serious," Brenda said as she set their food down in front of them. "Anything I need to know about?"

"Oh no," Amanda said, trying to sound cheery. "Nothing like that."

"Do you know Freddy Doyle?" Francine asked, suddenly. "You must."

Brenda wrinkled her nose. "That woman? I keep hoping she'll get transferred somewhere far away. She's a real —" She bit her lip. "Never mind."

"Amanda's just had her first run-in this morning."

"Oh," Brenda grimaced. "My condolences. Coffee's on me."

Amanda sighed. "That's nice, Brenda, but you don't have to."

"Agent Doyle is a thorn in everyone's side. But she's ten times worse if she thinks she can get at your soft underbelly," Brenda said.

"How does everyone know her but me?" Amanda asked. "I didn't start yesterday."

"She likes to hide in her lair in between strikes," Francine said. "Like a dragon."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "She's just a person. She can't always be that bad."

"I dunno…." Brenda began. "I heard she eats the souls of rookie agents. It sustains her life force."

Francine's laughter nearly made her choke on a sip of water. Amanda rolled her eyes at them, but a smile hovered around her mouth.

"Now come on," she said. "There has to be a way to work with her."

"Well if you find out what it is, let me know." Brenda made a discreet motion with her hand, pointing in the direction of a table near the window. "In the meantime, I need to get along with the guy at table two, who rats me out if he thinks I'm fraternizing and not timing the cooks as they make a four-minute egg, so…"

Francine had asked Brenda once if her cover drove her crazy. She'd been surprised to learn that Brenda actually enjoyed waiting tables almost as much as she enjoyed brokering deals between enemy agents and the American government. She was obviously good at both, since Lee had visited the diner for almost two years before catching her out and Ralph, who ran the place, still had no clue (even in spite of having to replace his front door and two booths thanks to a hail of stray bullets). Francine knew there were long stretches when nothing much happened at The Pie Plate, when Brenda spent her days working the breakfast rush and putting up her aching feet at a daily debrief with her section chief after her shift. But she also knew Brenda had helped with some of the most surprising defections in the intelligence community. Like Francine, she had thrown herself into her career, and she often said the payoff came in "cash and anonymous tips."

"What happened to women looking out for women?" Amanda muttered as she took the toothpick out of her sandwich.

Francine laughed. "Don't tell me suburban moms have each other's backs."

"No, they pretty much eat each other alive," Amanda admitted. She rolled the toothpick between her fingers, fiddling with the nest of plastic ribbon on its top. "You aren't like that. You're always saying we've got to stick together. I mean you didn't start out that way, but —"

"You know I was just jealous," Francine said. "And uncomfortable. I don't know how to explain it."

"Oh, you explained it," Amanda was smiling a little now. "You explained it many times."

Francine couldn't help laughing. She knew she'd been as resistant as Amanda had been persistent. "I guess I did. But it wasn't just about the job, you know that."

"I know. You explained it in the freezer and it makes perfect sense and you don't have to explain it again. It doesn't matter, either, because we worked it out. Right?" She stabbed the toothpick into the wedge of lemon garnishing her plate. "Anyway. Agent Doyle isn't jealous of me."

"No, she just hates everyone. Brenda said it — it's not just me. She's notorious. I can't believe it's taken her this long to come at you."

Amanda didn't look at all comforted by that. Her brows drew together and she took a small bite of her sandwich. They are in silence for a few minutes, as Francine gathered her thoughts. She wasn't sure if sharing them was the best idea — she was out of her depth when it came to Amanda's life after she left the Agency every night.

"You know, I said she was a dragon earlier but the one thing I know about you is that you're a bit of a dragon slayer," she said.

"Come on," Amanda scoffed.

"I mean it. You turn people around all the time. Me. Beaman. Even Smyth, of all people. You can do it with Doyle, too."

"That's very nice of you, Francine, but I didn't do anything with you or Beaman or Dr Smyth that I haven't done with anyone else, including Doyle."

"Well, did we bother you as much as she seems to?" Francine speared a segment of orange, thinking that this salad really was delicious and she was going to have to get it again sometime, maybe with chicken.

"No." Amanda took a bite of the pickle spear on the side of her plate and chewed. "I think she just found my soft underbelly, like Brenda said. She made some offhand remark about how first-year agents could've seen it, and it got my back up." She set down the pickle spear and finally looked straight at Francine. "My head hasn't been in it the last couple of weeks."

"Well, you've had a lot on your plate," Francine said, trying to choose her words carefully. "I mean with what's-his-name visiting." She was perfectly aware of Joe's name, and she waited for Amanda to correct her, but Amanda didn't.

"Oh, that." Amanda set down the pickle and straightened in her seat, leaning towards Francine slightly in a way that Francine knew meant she was going to make another confession. "Lately I feel like I'm doing everything badly."

Francine set down her fork and dabbed the corner of her mouth with her paper napkin. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the magazines say we can have it all, you know? But I either spend too much time at work and things start sliding at home, or too much time wrapped up in home stuff and things start sliding at work. I can't seem to find a balance. And Lee always tells me to just pick my battles, but I've given up most of the volunteering at school and I'm barely involved in team fundraising and Lee and the boys even make dinner and do part of the housework and I'm still not on top of everything." Amanda drew in a deep breath. "And that's why Doyle's comment bothered me so much."

Francine wasn't sure what to say. "You know I have no idea how to help you with that," she said. "I live by myself and I still hire someone to do my housework and feed me."

"I know. It sounds nice."

Francine laughed. She hadn't been expecting that. "It is nice. But you know all it means is we're making different trade-offs. I spend sixty hours a week at work and I don't have anyone waiting for me at home, and sometimes I like it and sometimes it's…."

"Lonely," Amanda supplied.

"Yes," Francine admitted.

"But you love your job."

"Don't you love yours?"

"I do. I do love it. It's… it's exactly what I want. I guess I'm just frustrated because I know I could be better at it than I am right now."

"Couldn't we all?" Francine asked, dryly.

"I guess there are two dragons."

Francine ate a mouthful of greens and tried to keep herself from speaking the words that were sitting on the tip of her tongue. After a moment, she gave up, set down her fork, and swallowed. "You're too hard on yourself."

Amanda's brows rose in surprise. "You think so?"

"I do. I couldn't manage all that. Kids and a job at IFF and — and a marriage. Not to mention all the bake sales and PTA meetings and knitting circles. I think having it all is a scam."

"You do, huh?"

"Yes." Francine sipped her water. "It's supposed to keep us down, Amanda. So what if you can solve a case but the laundry doesn't get folded? Someone else can fold it when they have a minute."

"Someone else already does fold it." Amanda sipped her coffee. "I mean, sometimes."

"Well then you're ahead of the game." Francine studied Amanda across the table. Her dark eyes looked amused, not irritated, and her shoulders had lowered about an inch, closer to their natural position. "That second dragon is one you're making yourself, and you should just tell it to get lost."

"Maybe."

"No 'maybe.' Ask any man — they don't even think about all that stuff." She loved Lee like a brother but she knew he would never have considered half the things Amanda had to do in a day if he hadn't had a taste of them all himself when she couldn't. She suspected Billy didn't think much about them, even though he loved Jeannie and his girls to death — someone still sent his suits out for cleaning and she knew it wasn't him. "I bet Doyle doesn't."

"No? I heard her mention her kids the other day."

"Really? I'm surprised she didn't eat her young."

Amanda's mouth curved in a wide smile, and she lifted a hand to cover it as she began to shake with laughter. "Oh, Francine," she gasped. "That's so mean."

Francine wanted to feel a pang of guilt, but she couldn't. She was enjoying Amanda's response, which was now borderline hysterical, too much. "Well, I am a witch. You said it yourself."

"I never should have said that," Amanda said, the way she always did when Francine brought it up.

"Too late," Francine tossed back at her. "You said it. It's out there and now I can freely live up to it. Besides, you know you were thinking the very same thing."

Amanda sighed as her laughter faded. "I was," she admitted, wiping at a tear on the corner of one eye. "And I know what I'm going to do."

"You're going to bake her a batch of cookies, aren't you?"

"No," Amanda said, completely serious now. "I'm going to solve the case right from under her nose."