A/N: The first scene takes place before "Dear Doctor Lucy."

A bit of movement drew Patty's eye from the vacuum cleaner to the window, and she smiled to recognize the dust cloud stirring up the red and brown autumn leaves on the sidewalk. She quickly switched off the machine and removed the plaid bandana from her brunette hair. Pausing only to straighten her flannel work shirt and jeans in front of the mirror and put her plaid hair bows back in place, she flew to the door and onto the porch, just in time to meet her boyfriend on the steps.

Pig-Pen's dirt-streaked face broke into a warm, white-tooth smile as she threw her arms around his neck in a hug, but from the awkward way he moved, Patty realized he was carrying something. (It was easy to overlook specific details about him before the dust cloud settled.)

"Ooh, a present?" she guessed, stepping back.

He at once looked sheepish. "A replacement, actually."

He held out a flat, rectangular object, which Patty accepted. Wiping off the coat of dust with her work shirt, she saw it was a Neil Sedaka record album.

"Thanks," she answered, mystified, "but I already have this one. Violet and I were listening to it when you came over on Tuesday, remember?"

"But I accidentally clogged up the vinyl grooves with dirt," he reminded her. "I know you weren't going to say anything about it, Patty, but I try to be a man of honor and replace what I damage."

"Pig-Pen, you have the cleanest track record that a boyfriend could ever want," she chuckled. "And to show it, I'm going to play my new album right out here with you."

He protested at first, but she insisted so sincerely that he at last relented. Patty retrieved her portable record player and brought it out, laying it on the top step by the post. As she set up the record, Pig-Pen retreated to the opposite post to sit, trying to keep a respectable distance from the machinery. As Neil Sedaka's perky, dreamy voice sang out a love song, Patty crossed over to Pig-Pen and made a point of sitting as close to him as she could, showing she did not mind a little dirt. (Besides her work clothes, Patty had wisely invested in a wardrobe of easy-to-wash outfits before she and Pig-Pen had officially started going steady.)

She laid her head on his shoulder, and he slipped his arm around her. Although Patty had a reputation for being a cleaning machine after she discovered her dream for becoming a home-ec teacher, she had no qualms about being with Pig-Pen. The earthy smell he always carried with him (even during those rare occurrences when he managed to stay clean for longer than five minutes) reminded Patty of being out in her garden in the sunshine or of her younger days of creating mud pies with her best friend, Violet, to sell to the other kids in neighborhood. More importantly, Pig-Pen was a teddy bear and quite a gentleman despite his appearance, and his laid-back ways and pleasant demeanor allowed people to feel comfortable around him, once they got used to his dust clouds.

The song had not been playing for a full minute when the front door opened in the house next to hers, and Patty's neighbor, a blond teenager named Schroeder, emerged and stood for a moment on his stoop. He was a reserved guy with thoughtful, analytical eyes, the type of boy who could sit at a piano for eight hours playing Beethoven as if it was as exciting as a movie marathon. Schroeder and Patty had grown up together and had played on the same baseball team as kids, so she was not surprised when he started across his lawn toward her and Pig-Pen.

The boys nodded to each other first; despite Schroeder having a reputation for being more cultured than the rest of the neighborhood gang, he and Pig-Pen had been good friends since they were small.

"Is the music too loud for you?" Patty asked, reaching for the volume control as Schroeder turned to her.

Schroeder, however, shook his head.

"Oh, I heard Neil Sedaka and thought Lucy might have come over," he explained.

"No, Pig-Pen just got me a present," Patty smiled. "Isn't he dreamy?"

Pig-Pen rubbed his neck, grinning sheepishly. "It was nothing, really.'"

Schroeder looked momentarily disappointed, but then he peered down at the record player, seeming rather like a scientist studying an unpredictable specimen. Patty grinned at his uncomfortable expression.

"Pull up a porch step, pal, and listen with us," she hummed. "If you like this, we were planning to put on some accordion music later. Never too late to learn how to polka."

"Except that would conflict with a root canal I'm having later," he snarked back, "and you know how I'd hate to miss that."

Patty touched her chest, acting hurt. "Do you hear how he talks to me, Pig-Pen? I've known him since he was a baby. I played with him and attended his very first concert, and he only shows me disrespect!"

Pig-Pen's eyes twinkled with fun as he pretended to scold Schroeder. "You have to learn how to tolerate your friends having different tastes, Schroeder. We all compromise for you when you play Beethoven, so you need to learn to compromise for those of us who like the finer things in life, like rock music and polka."

"Or I could become a hermit," Schroeder sniffed, but a hint of a smile appeared.

Patty tossed her head back. "Oh, Schroeder doesn't make compromises for any of his friends, except for Lucy. He likes her better than me, you know."

Schroeder straightened. "What gives you that idea?"

"If Lucy played Neil Sedaka, you would listen," she insisted. "It doesn't matter that I'm practically your sister; you picked Lucy as your favorite gal pal. Why, I bet Lucy could even get you to listen to polka if she bugged you long enough."

"On the contrary, I don't think even Lucy could work that miracle, Patty," Pig-Pen countered in good humor. "Schroeder would happily give his blood and a kidney to help a friend, but polka is crossing a line."

"He just doesn't have your self-sacrificing spirit, sweet baby," Patty declared, gripping his hand as she gave him a warm smile that did not have to be feigned.

Pig-Pen's nose crinkled in that cute way, and Patty probably would have kissed him if they did not have an audience. She turned back to Schroeder, who now watched them with an odd, rather sheepish expression.

"What's with that face?" she playfully challenged. "I haven't even called him snooky-ookums yet."

Schroeder looked away, gazing at the porch steps. His face contorted once or twice before he muttered, "How do you two make this work?"

"The record player?" Patty quirked an eyebrow at such an easy question. "The vinyl has grooves, and when the needle—"

"Not that," he snapped. He looked at them. "This. You guys."

"Us, what?"

"You know" — he made a circle with his hands as if indicating the two of them — "this. Here. This."

"Oh!" Patty comprehended. "You mean… this?"

She plopped against Pig-Pen and mimicked Schroeder's hand gestures, but now she drew a heart in the air.

Schroeder nodded silently, two inflamed circles appearing in his cheeks. Although artistic in regards to music and poetry, he became frustratingly reticent when it came to voicing deeper emotions, but Patty had never seen his face grow so red on the subject of relationships.

She propped her chin on her hand, and her eyes glittered.

"Why so curious all of a sudden, Schroeder? Are you falling for someone?"

Schroeder stiffened his shoulders, indignant. "In case you forgot, I am a musician and an aspiring composer. If I'm going to write music about the human experience, I have to do my own research."

"That's fair," Patty said lightly. "I remember your attempt at writing an opera. How did that love duet go again?"

Pig-Pen patted her knee, leaving a handprint on her jeans. "Don't tease him, Patty. Some guys are better suited to bachelorhood than others, so we should respect Schroeder's choices."

"If we must," Patty pretended to sigh before she faced Schroeder. "What exactly do you want to know then, Mr. Composer?"

He rolled his shoulders, swallowing. "How do you guys… be together… and stay friends?"

"Oh, that's easy!" she laughed. "We never had to stop being friends."

Pig-Pen scratched his cheek, looking sheepish. "That's certainly the truth."

"But how?" Schroeder asked, fidgeting.

"We were already pretty good friends before we started dating," Patty declared. "We had a relationship, and then we added to it, like sprinkling seasoning on an existing dish."

Pig-Pen gave her a small smile. "Or putting a sandbox on a beach."

"Or putting sugar on cereal."

"Or pouring water into a well."

"Or adding fabric softener to—"

"I get the picture," Schroeder interrupted, holding up his hands, "but how do you make it work? Without getting at each other's throats?"

Patty tapped her chin, considering it. "I guess one thing that helps is that we have the right things in common."

Schroeder's face fell slightly. "Like enjoying the same music?"

"Oh, no!" Patty chuckled. "I can't stand the smooth jazz that Pig-Pen listens to, and he listens to my favorite albums to be sociable. Even now, he's only tolerating Neil Sedaka because he wants to spend time with me."

Pig-Pen bowed his head. "I cannot tell a lie."

"But our goals in life are pretty compatible," Patty went on, "and we support each other in our endeavors."

"Support," Schroeder repeated, rubbing his chin.

"Sure!" She nodded. "Like how I want to be a home-ec teacher someday. Pig-Pen has been a great help already."

Schroeder looked dubious, glancing at the mantle of dirt gathered around Pig-Pen's shoes. His buddy chuckled.

"Patty isn't going to be your average home-ec teacher," he explained, beaming with pride. "She's going to open her own school."

"I sure am!" Patty boasted.

"And she's not going to teach her students just how to sew and cook and clean. She's going to turn it into an art form."

"When you date this guy, you have to be creative with getting out dirt stains," Patty said fondly. "So that got me interested in discovering new cleaning techniques, the kind of stuff people will pay to learn! Sometimes, I'll gather strips of different types of fabric from Mom's rag bin — cottons, linens, wool, polyester — and have Pig-Pen walk across them, and then I figure out how to clean them. My school will be a hit, and I could host parties on the side like a Mary Kay agent, but instead of makeup, I'll be selling my own cleaning techniques!"

Her face shone, already picturing the "cleaning parties" with plates of fancy hors d'oeuvres and coffee in pretty cups, while she stood in a living room full of clients and wowed them with her discoveries and patented products. Parents would then clamor to send their children to Patty Swanson's Institute of Home-Economics, where Patty would also teach them revolutionary ways to cook foods, sew, and balance a checkbook.

"And Patty's been supporting me with my dream," Pig-Pen said brightly.

"Which is?" asked Schroeder.

Pig-Pen straightened, beaming. "Archeology!"

"Ah." Schroeder gave his friend a sweeping glance. "Not to sound rude, but don't archeologists try to get dirt off artifacts, not on them?"

Patty clapped her hands, grinning. "Oh, but that's where Pig-Pen is going to be indispensable! Since he's a dust magnet, all he has to do is walk around an archeological dig site a few times, and all those years of dirt and soil will start sticking to him, and his colleagues will be able to clean up what's left!"

Pig-Pen raised his head, wearing a look of dignity. "I'm sure to be a pioneer in my field."

"Dr. Pig-Pen," Patty sighed dreamily. She could picture that too: Pig-Pen going to faraway places, getting his name in the newspaper, mailing postcards and souvenirs to his favorite girl, and — someday — taking his future wife with him to Egypt and Peru to give him morale support while he was on a dig.

Schroeder still looked doubtful, but he remained polite. "And Patty supports you?"

"She believes in me and helps me keep my grades up," he told Schroeder. "I can't be an archeologist if I don't graduate."

"You see, we're still doing what friends do anyway," Patty chimed in, "but now we're a couple who look to the future."

Schroeder thinned his lips. "Just like that?"

"Support goes both ways, after all," she returned. Her smile turned once more into a smirk. "If you — hypothetically — got into a relationship with a girl, you would probably expect her to like Beethoven and have your back when you pursue your music career, right?"

He winced and nodded silently.

"Similarly, you would have to support her dreams, Schroeder, even if she dreams of being the world's best polka dancer," Patty teased.

Schroeder made a face, which caused Patty to break out in a mischievous titter. Pig-Pen gently nudged her, and she quickly relented.

"So, if you ever write another opera, that's what you should focus on with your romantic leads, Schroeder," she said cheekily. "Make them good friends first, instead of trying to mimic schmaltzy Beethoven and Mozart stuff."

Schroeder blinked.

"Opera…? Oh. Right." He linked his thumbs on his pockets. "Thanks then, guys, for the help. With researching, I mean," he added, a little too quickly.

He gave them a small wave before he turned and started back toward his own house, his gait contemplative. Patty watched him with glittering eyes and barely managed to wait until Schroeder disappeared through his front door before the snickers which she had been holding back erupted. Her paralyzing mirth caused her to collapse against her confused Pig-Pen, and she shook in his embrace for several minutes. When she finally regained control and sat up, her sleeves had several more dirt streaks and smudges from where Pig-Pen had been obliged to hold onto her to keep her from falling flat on her face against the front walk.

Wiping tears from her eyes, she giggled out, "That boy is in love!"

Pig-Pen shook his head. "Schroeder said he was just researching for his music. You know how he gets when his brain is in Beethoven World."

Patty shot him a smirk. "You're forgetting that I've known Schroeder since he was an infant. I know when he's visiting Beethoven World, and, sweet baby, that ain't it."

Pig-Pen blinked several times, considering her words. "Huh."

"Now, the important question." Patty tented her fingers, her eyes sparkling with mischief and sisterly teasing. "Who is she?"

"It sure boggles the mind," Pig-Pen muttered.

"But it has to be someone he considers a good friend," she reasoned. "That's why he was so fixated on us maintaining our friendship as a couple. So, who's his dream girl? Freida? Violet? Tapioca Pudding? Marcie? Peppermint Patty? Or maybe a girl from the school band?"

Pig-Pen leaned back on his hands, contemplative. "You know, it could be Lucy."

Patty scoffed. "Impossible! They're practically family."

"I think it would make sense," he countered. "They're pretty close, so Schroeder would hate to ruin that, hence his reluctance."

Patty broke into another laugh. "Can you imagine Schroeder trying to keep up with her whims? He won't come to my parties if he knows my accordionist friend is going to be there, and if he can't compromise for me, how is he going to be in a relationship with someone with clashing interests like Lucy? It'll be all take and no give with him — and vice versa."

Pig-Pen shrugged mildly. "You never know. They managed to be great friends thus far."

"Nah, they're too different for something deeper," she insisted.

He smiled. "As different as a cleaning machine and a dust magnet?"

Patty tweaked his dusty nose. "Even more different, babe."

A few weeks later, the early snow covered the faded grass and fallen leaves, but that did not stop Pig-Pen from working up a cloud of dust when he came to pick up Patty for their date to the movies. Snowflakes that fell upon his messy hair soon grew instantly sooty, but he barely seemed to notice the cold, insulated by his dirt as if it were another jacket. Still, when he saw Patty shiver, he looped an arm around her shoulders.

The snowy neighborhood made for a picturesque setting, and the lack of pedestrians and cars gave them a sense of cozy privacy. Soon, though, they spotted another pair on the sidewalk, heading toward them: Schroeder and Lucy, holding hands.

Patty stopped in her tracks, staring. Schroeder and Lucy walking together was not an unusual sight; sometimes, they walked arm-in-arm, but mostly that was Lucy pretending to be in love with Schroeder while he pretended to be merely tolerating her faux advances. To hold hands — while smiling warmly and shyly at each other — was a complete first.

Pig-Pen gave Patty a curious look, but she promptly took hold of his arm and hauled him forward, momentarily forgetting about the movie. Some things had to be investigated.

"So, you actually snuck in and stole the ribbon from Linus's typewriter just to see if I had written the letter on it?" Schroeder was saying, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

Lucy's eyes gleamed.

"I didn't have to steal anything, sweetie. See—" She stopped when she noticed the other pair approaching. "Oh, hi, you two."

Patty halted, giving the two a scrutinizing sweep. "Nice evening, isn't it? Anything new?"

Schroeder pinked, but Lucy swung their linked hands, wearing a kittenish grin.

"Oh, this and that," she replied. "Where are you two off to?"

"Movies," Patty said, squinting.

"Then we shouldn't keep you," Lucy answered, at once guiding Schroeder around the other couple. "Take care. There's a nasty ice patch up ahead."

Pig-Pen shot the pair a knowing smile as they passed him. "Congratulations, by the way."

Schroeder's face went full scarlet, but Lucy beamed over her shoulder.

"Thanks," she returned calmly, as if Pig-Pen had only complimented her new hat.

Schroeder quickened his pace, pulling Lucy along, and the two soon slipped around the corner. Once they vanished from sight, Patty shielded her eyes and scanned the overcast sky.

"Let me know if you see any pigs flying," she said. "I wouldn't be surprised at this point."

Pig-Pen chuckled, taking her gloved hand, and they continued on toward the theater.

"I guess Schroeder will be able to write better love duets now," he commented evenly, "but can Lucy actually make him like polka?"

Patty exhaled before she took his arm. "You know what I like most about you, Pig-Pen?"

"What's that, Patty?"

She raised herself up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his dusty cheek. "Not once since we started dating have you ever said 'I told you so.'"

THE END

A/N: Funnily enough, there's a MetLife commercial from 1994 where Lucy talks to Schroeder about whole life insurance helping their future together. When she mentions the two of them retiring on the Riviera, Schroeder actually seems to get into the idea, and he begins playing an Italian or French sounding song — but his piano now sounds like an accordion. Even though the commercial isn't canon, it's funny to think that Lucy of all people got Schroeder to play accordion music voluntarily.