S01E09: Sudden Death


Scarecrow and Mrs. King is the registered trademark and copyrighted property of B&E Enterprises/Shoot the Moon Enterprises and Warner Brothers Television. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for this item, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.


Maybe Mine


The first time Lee Stetson thinks about kissing Amanda King comes right after the first time he actually does.

He's kissed women as part of a cover before; dozens of times, in fact. But it had never felt anything like that unless he had already been involved with the woman in question. Come to think of it, it's almost never felt like that at all. For a long, long moment, his awareness had narrowed down to nothing except the feel of her mouth against his, the sounds she'd made in her throat, and the way her hair slid underneath his hand. When he'd pulled back, starting to say her name before kissing her again, he'd barely noticed because he hadn't been ready to stop. At all.

"Excuse me, Mr. Newcombe!" The shout, which had brought him back to the present, had actually been a good thing. It had helped him remember his cover just in time to keep from blowing it as badly as the greenest of rookies.

He's back in his room now, lights truly out, but it still doesn't make any sense. That had been Amanda King, for crying out loud! A prim-and-proper housewife who has somehow gotten the idea that she might be able to do the same job he does. As if they had anything at all in common, never mind the mix of recklessness and quick thinking that goes into being a good agent! That idea's even more ludicrous than the one that she could ever be his type. He's never been interested in picket fences or ball-and-chain partners.

Willing himself to sleep, he flops from his side onto his back, trying to think about something else. Anything else. But it's been a while since he's had a chance to distract himself with his own kind of woman, so it's not that easy to put the remembered sensations out of his head. One of his hands drifts up to touch his lips, tracing them as he remembers how sweet she'd tasted, how he'd had fleeting thoughts of pulling her up through the window, into the hallway and down here to his room. If he'd done that, it wouldn't have stopped with just a kiss. Not the way she'd responded. He'd have —

No.

Scarecrow bites his finger, hoping the pain will distract him, but his mind starts down that treacherous road again.

Still, there's one thought in all that, that he can grab onto. It has been a while, and he has been feeling a lot of pressure, especially since it's been a long time since college and he's having trouble keeping up with the truly professional players. He'll need to blow off some steam once this assignment ends. That's all his reaction meant. It's just a symptom of stress. His mind is just latching on to something — or someone — convenient.

It's not the most comforting of thoughts, but it's enough to relax into sleep. And if he's chased by any related dreams, he either doesn't remember them or writes them off as meaningless.