An AU tale for the 34th anniversary of the premiere of Scarecrow and Mrs. King.

No copyright infringement is intended and the characters remain the property of their creators.

October 3rd, 1983

3:04 a.m.

Lee Stetson pulled the dumpster out and slid into the narrow space he'd created between it and the building wall. He could hear the running steps of the two guys who'd chased him from the party and curled himself into the smallest ball he could manage, wrapping his body around the paper-wrapped package that he hoped was going to be the key to stopping this string of murders.

He'd managed to get down Massachusetts Avenue as far as Dupont Circle and found himself faced with almost too many escape routes. Running across the small park, he tripped on a tree root and fell forward banging his head on a park bench as he fell. He had no idea how long he was knocked out but it had to have been less than a minute because when he sat up, he could see his pursuers still darting through the sparse traffic toward him. He stayed kneeling for a moment, in the shadow of the central statue, trying to decide which way to run before finally racing down Connecticut Avenue in the hopes of being able to flag a cab on the busier street.

Busier during the day perhaps, but at this time of night, it was almost deserted and he'd been able to hear the footsteps behind him getting closer. He'd dived down the nearest alley, praying they hadn't seen him turn, only to find himself facing a twelve-foot chain link fence. Whirling to try and find another way out, he'd seen the shadows of his pursuers across the alley entrance and flung himself behind the dumpster.

He held his breath, straining to listen for approaching footsteps. Despite his efforts, he never heard a thing, until the giant bin was yanked away and he found himself facing the business end of a revolver.

"You really shouldn't have run, buddy," said a sneering voice. The flash as the goon pulled the trigger was the last thing he saw before everything went black.

October 3rd, 1983

2:59 a.m.

Lee opened his eyes and realized he must have tripped on something because he had no memory of why he was face down in grass in the dark. The second he heard the shouts and blaring car horns though, he remembered and sat up, trying to steady his head. His pursuers were darting through traffic toward him. He stayed in the kneeling position for a moment, trying to see the best escape route before deciding to try Connecticut Avenue. With luck he'd be able to hail a cab. Just in time he remembered to scoop up the paper-wrapped package and began to sprint, albeit bent over, south toward the busy street. He was almost clear when they saw him – he dove down an alley trying to shake them – and found himself facing an oddly familiar chain link fence, with no chance of escape.

Spinning in place, he spotted a dumpster and raced toward it, hoping maybe they'd miss seeing him down here. It was no good – before he could even pull his own gun, he was facing the muzzle of his enemy's.

"You really shouldn't have run, buddy." Then a flash and then darkness.

October 3rd... well, you get the picture...

Lee came to, face down in the grass in the darkness of Dupont Circle, parcel tucked under his body, stars spinning in his peripheral vision. Without pausing to think, he picked it up and ran, bent double across the park, hoping they hadn't seen him. As he ran down Connecticut, he slowed as he approached an alleyway, but something, some déjà vu feeling kept him from turning into it. He glanced behind him – they were getting closer. He made an effort to pick up speed – if he could just make it to N Street, he could lose them. His lungs were burning, but he just need to get 50 more yards… He never saw the car in time, the one that came out of the alleyway, sending him flying out into the middle of the busy road. The last thing he saw before his head hit the pavement was one of the goons catching the parcel in midair from where it had flown out his hands.

"You have got to be kidding me," Lee muttered as he opened his eyes and found himself face planted once again in the dark grass. The familiar sounds of pursuit told him to run and he did – straight down Connecticut Avenue, pausing just in time to let the car out of the alley, although he had no idea how he'd known it would be there. This time he made it almost all the way to the corner of N Street before the bullet hit the back of his head.

The fifth time he woke up, Lee decided to just stay flat on the ground and see what happened. Not the best plan, it turned out; one of them had seen him trip and found him almost instantly, rolling him over to grab the package and then shooting him, all in one fluid movement.

The sixth time, he bolted for some nearby bushes, hoping to double back after they'd passed and get to the Metro Station entrance. That one almost worked – if only all the gates hadn't been locked for the night, he might have been able to get to the tunnels and escape that way, but he hadn't had time to pick the lock on the chain when the Boris Twins – as he was calling them now - caught up to him, cornered like a rat in a trap.

The seventh time, he had his lock pick out by the time he got to the gates and got them nearly all the way undone when they caught up. The eighth time, he got through, only to find a roll-down barricade blocking his way and no time to try and figure out how to get through it.

The ninth and tenth attempts, he went down New Hampshire Ave, south toward Georgetown and the Agency, but they caught up to him both times, too visible in the bright lights.

By the eleventh time he woke up, cool grass against his cheek, he decided maybe continuing straight down tree-lined Massachusetts Ave was the way to go. Not much cover but at least the trees blocked some of the streetlights so it was darker and it provided a pretty straight line to the train station where his alternate contact would be waiting. As he ran, he wondered if the Russians were reliving this as well, or if it was just him. No, he decided, they always seemed just a little surprised by his moves as if they didn't know what he was going to do even when he repeated things. If he hadn't let that thought distract him, he might have been just quick enough to get that delivery truck between him and the Russians but this time, slowing down to avoid being run over is what gave them time to fire that single bullet that sent him flying under its rear wheels.

"Francine, I need you to come pick me up."

"Whaaah?" Francine had the voice of a woman who had been woken from a deep sleep.

Lee had had a great idea around the 25th go-around – he needed backup, and he knew just the person to ask. He was currently curled up in the bottom of a dark phone booth trying to keep out of sight.

"Francine! I'm pinned down in an alley near your place and I need you to come and get me out of here."

"Who's Sally?"

"No! I'm in an alley!" he wanted to yell at her, wake her up a bit, but he knew a raised voice would attract the attention of his new friends. It was almost funny, he reflected, that as they performed this dance over and over, he was becoming kind of fond of those guys, even if he had no idea who they really were, except that they appeared to have a really vested interest in killing him.

Is there a Wanted poster somewhere, he wondered idly, with his face on it, like an old-time gunslinger and "Dead or Alive" printed under his name? Because these guys certainly seemed to want him dead and it seemed… unfriendly.

"Why are you in an alley?" Francine slurred into the phone.

"Are you okay? Have you been drinking?" Lee asked. It seemed unlike her not to instantly awake and alert.

"I'm fine – except I'm on the phone with some idiot who just woke me up at 4 am to get him out of a bad date," came back the response, the sarcasm muffled by the yawn halfway through.

"I'm not on a bad date – I'm trying to get away from guys who are trying to kill me," Lee hissed into the receiver. "Now, can you come help me or not?"

"Trying to kill you?" Francine sounded slightly more awake and interested now. "Still sounds like one of your dates to me. Where are you?"

"12th and M Street," he answered. "Not that far from your place."

"Can't you just get here?" she asked.

"I can't move from here without them seeing me. Can you just get down here and help me draw fire please?"

"Okay, okay," she muttered. "Gimme a second. I'll be there as soon as I can."

The fifteen minutes until he finally saw her little red Mustang coming down the street seemed an eternity. Unfolding himself from his new hiding space behind the trash cans, he raced to meet her as she slowed down to look for him, throwing open the car door and jumping in. "Go! Go!" he urged as she stalled the engine, startled by his sudden appearance. "Come on!"

"Sheesh, Lee, relax," she muttered as she turned the engine over and started to move off slowly.

"I'll relax when I get away from those guys," he retorted. "Move it, will ya?"

With an eye roll, Francine obeyed, picking up a bit of speed a little bit to get clear of the alley before noticing that Lee was eyeing her suspiciously. "What?" she demanded.

"What are you wearing?"

"What am I…? Clothes, Stetson! What else would I be wearing?"

"I call and tell you I'm pinned down by killer Russians and you stopped to get dressed?"

"Of course I stopped to get dressed! I'm not a cartoon mom on a school run in her nightgown – if this is Agency business, anything can happen and I'm going to get dressed for it!"

"Fine," he grumbled. "Good to know where your priorities are."

"Gimme a break, Scarecrow! You should be happy I even agreed to come out here in the middle of the night to save your butt! I was pretty comfortable, asleep in my nice warm bed."

"Your warm lonely bed, you mean?" he smirked.

Francine turned her head to make a snarky reply which is probably why she never saw the Russian step out in front of the car, gun raised and firing at them. Lee grabbed the steering wheel and jerked it, but not in time before the windshield shattered and Francine was slumping toward him with a strangled cry. He barely had time to register the warmth of her blood gushing over him before the world went black.

It was almost a relief to wake up in Dupont Circle and realize that Francine was still alive somewhere, sound asleep in her bed and not worried about him at all.

Good, she can stay there, he thought.

But as he worked his way down Massachusetts for the umpteenth time, it occurred to him that if he could just tweak the pattern, she could still help him and not die doing it…

"Francine, I need you to come pick me up."

"Whaaah?"

He noticed it even more this time, how out of it she seemed, even for someone just woken up by a blaring telephone.

"I'm in an alley at 12th and M Street – can you start driving this way and I'll meet you? I can't shake the guys on my tail."

"Okay, gimme a few minutes."

"Francine, I don't have a few minutes! Don't even get dressed! Just pull on a coat and pick me up at Logan Circle as fast as you can, okay?"

"Okay" Her answer was almost swallowed by the yawn she gave off.

He made it to Logan Circle without the Russians gaining on him, hiding in the bushes of a darkened front garden to wait for her, which turned out to be a front row seat as her little red car finally appeared in the distance down Vermont Avenue.

"What the hell?" he thought as he realized she was weaving all over the road like a drunk driver. It was like slow motion, he couldn't do a thing as Francine drove straight out onto the circle without looking and was hit broadside by the delivery truck…

"No, no, no," he yelled as he ran toward the wreckage. "I changed it, damn it! I changed it!"

He looked around, praying the Russians had kept up, praying they'd kill him, praying he could start this stupid nightmare over again from square one, but after grabbing the package, they'd left him alone, probably driven away by all the attention the crash had attracted as people began to pour out of the townhouses that lined the street and the sirens started up from far away, getting closer… but Lee already knew it was too late.

"She had some kind of drug in her system," Billy would tell him later as they sat in his office, nursing lukewarm coffee. "We're still trying to figure out what it is, but she shouldn't have been driving."

"That makes no sense, Billy!" Lee burst out. "Francine never took a drug in her life and you know it!"

Billy shrugged, the grief at losing another agent and one of his closest friends etched on his face. "It might just have been something to help her sleep, maybe she mixed it with a nightcap. We'll find out soon enough once they run more tests."

"It was my fault," groaned Lee. "I should never have called her. She should still be home in bed." He dropped his face into his hands and dragged in a shuddering breath. "I can't do this anymore. The same thing over and over."

"Lee, we all have days like this," Billy tried to console him. "Tomorrow will be better."

"That's just it, Billy, it's never tomorrow for me. I don't think I'm ever going to get to tomorrow."

Billy sat up straight and wagged a finger at him. "Don't let me hear you talking like that, Scarecrow! I have lost too many agents in the past few weeks already."

"No Billy, I don't mean… I mean, okay, this is going to sound crazy, but here's the thing… I'm living the same few hours over and over. I keep dying and waking up and living the same thing again."

Lee could see the look on Billy's face, the look that meant he thought he'd lost an agent to burnout, to some kind of shellshock, and straightened up trying to convince him that he was wrong. "I know it sounds crazy, but it's like some sort of weird déjà vu thing. I wake up in Dupont Circle with these two guys on my tail and they chase me until I die… or someone else does."

Billy could see the fatigue on Lee's face – it did seem to be more than physical; he was obviously on the verge of some kind of breakdown. Maybe this case was too much pressure for even Scarecrow?

"Lee, I want you to head down to the medical center and get checked out," he said soothingly.

"Billy! I don't need a damn check-up! I need to figure out how to break this cycle!" Lee was frustrated but he knew there was no way to explain this to Billy in any way that made any sense. He sagged back in his chair and sighed. If only…

He sat back up suddenly, the answer – at least the temporary one – right in front of him. The medical center… if they thought he was crazy, they'd sedate him and if he was knocked out, Francine wouldn't be dead. And if he was wrong, well, at least he'd be well rested to go find those sons of bitches tomorrow, right?

"You're right, Billy. I should definitely get myself checked out." He stood up and strode out the door, leaving a more than normally worried Billy behind him. The second he was out of earshot, Billy picked up the phone. "Security? Follow Scarecrow and make sure he's really headed for the med center. Don't let him go anywhere else." Then a second call. "Doctor Kelford? I just wanted to warn you, Scarecrow is on his way down – no, under his own volition. Yes, that is worrying – keep me informed. Sedate him if you have to."

Later – much later – Lee would try to do the math and decide it had taken him approximately 30 attempts to make it down as far as Thomas Circle and then another 25 before he got within a block of the train station. By then he knew the pattern of every car on the road at that time of night, he knew where the potholes were, he knew when the lights were turning red and he knew every move the goons would make in their pursuit. He tried changing it up, darting north unexpectedly, chasing down alleyways, but they caught him every time. He'd long since stopped asking himself why he was reliving this over and over again – all he knew was that he needed to get this information to the right people and stop the murders.

Somewhere around the sixtieth repetition was when he finally reached the train station, scrambling across tracks and under parked freight cars, now just barely ahead of them. He was slowed by the busy morning crowd, and while he was trying to read the departure board to see where to find Sam's train, he was sent flying, head hitting the pavement and there he was - straight back to Dupont Circle. It took two more tries after that before he got the platform information he needed and on Number 65, he skipped the crowd in the main terminal and scuttled directly across the tracks and under the waiting passenger train at the platform for New York departures.

It seemed like nothing he could do after that ever gave him the break he was looking for. The lineups to board were so long, they caught up to him. The conductor on Try #68 sent him packing because he didn't have a ticket, right into their waiting arms. He took too long on #70 and the train was already pulling away when he got there.

It didn't really get serious until 75. That was the one where Sam Guthrie saw him and hung out the door to grab the parcel from him, only to have the Borises open fire indiscriminately on the crowd, hitting Lee in the chest and sending the crowd running, screaming.

But no one ever said Scarecrow wasn't a fast learner. On the next try, as he raced down the platform Lee had his own weapon drawn ready to shoot them first, but was taken down by station security.

Obviously he wasn't going to survive this – one of these times was going to be the last permanently fatal time but Lee saw no reason why this information package had to go down with him. As he ran along the side of the train, he saw someone in the line to board who he thought looked vaguely familiar and begged him to carry it onto the train for him. In the time it took for the man to shake him off, refusing, they caught up to him again.

Okay, so scratch that guy off the Good Samaritan list. A passing bus with the Channel 12 news team pictured on the side reminded Lee why that guy had seemed familiar – he was pretty sure he had just harassed a local celebrity weather guy for help. The Munich Maneuver still seemed like his best bet though – if he could just find the right person to help him. He felt like he'd asked everyone on that platform during all his subsequent tries and every one of them had looked at him like he was crazy and refused to do anything. And the Russians kept catching up to him – sometimes with guns, sometimes with their fists – and he kept finding himself back in the dark, seeing stars and scrambling to start all over again.

It was somewhere around the ninetieth time, that's when everything really started to take a turn for the worse. He was running down the platform, scanning faces, looking for a way onto the train, and almost at a door free of people when he heard the shot behind him. He flinched, waiting for the darkness to overcome him, then realized they'd missed. Well, they'd missed him but the woman who had been walking down the platform toward him was swaying on the spot, a rapidly spreading patch of red visible on her coat. Confused dark eyes flicked up to meet his before they turned cloudy, and then she fell forward into his arms. In the split second it took him to realize she was dead, the second bullet hit him in the neck.

Lee was almost praying for a real death at this point. The next five times, no matter what path he took, no matter what evasive move he made, the dark-haired woman on the train platform ended up dead when the Borises opened fire.

"Fine," he thought. "We eliminate the guns."

At this point, he was covering the route from Dupont Circle to the train station with almost surgical precision, humming the Mission Impossible theme in his head and arriving there almost 20 minutes earlier than any of the other attempts. This time he waited, hiding behind train cars until he could initiate a gun battle with the Russians, only racing for the station once he was sure they were out of bullets. The first two times, station police shot and killed him before he could make it to the platform, not knowing why he'd been seen shooting in the freight yard, but on his third try, he evaded them as well and hurtled down the platform. This time he glanced back in time to see one of the Russians shoving the woman aside and sending her stumbling until she fell against the side of the moving train, into the gap between cars, pulled under its wheels.

Her cut-off scream would haunt him for the rest of his life. He was so struck with horror that he was no match for his assailant when he raced up, knocked Lee over and scooped up the parcel to run. Lee looked around dully, waiting for whatever was going to happen next, but this time there was no blessed darkness to sink into. Instead he was wide awake as the alarms sounded, the police swarmed the station and then, at some point, Billy arrived to push him into an Agency car and drive him back to Georgetown.

"What was her name?" he asked dully as they drove.

"Her name?" Billy asked in confusion.

"The woman who went under the train – what was her name? It was my fault – I should have avoided her. I should have done something to get her out of there."

Billy glanced at him, perturbed by the tone in Lee's voice. "Scarecrow, that was not your fault. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, that's all. You couldn't have done anything to prevent it."

"Yes, I could," answered Lee, still in that monotone. "She's there every time. Every time it's my fault."

Billy could feel the hair on the back of neck prickling at the way Lee was talking – it sounded like just the kind of crazy burnout talk he'd heard from agents before. "What do you mean 'every time', Lee? Have you met this woman before?"

"No, we've never met. She dies before I can talk to her. I've been trying to avoid her but for some reason, no matter what I do, she ends up dead."

For the next fifteen minutes, no matter what Billy said, Lee refused to do anything except ask for her name over and over. It was only when they got to the Agency and Francine handed them the faxed police report and he saw her name that he agreed to go to the medical center, stopping only to gather a very confused Francine into his arms and hug her until she almost couldn't breathe.

"I'm glad you're still here," he mumbled hoarsely. "I'm so sorry about before."

"About before? What are you taking about?" she asked, pushing him away to look at him with concern.

"I'm just glad you're here," he repeated dully. "I owe you a drink when this is all over."

"Make it dinner and we have a deal," she tried to tease him out of this weird mood.

Lee just smiled sadly. "Yeah, deal," he agreed. "See you again soon, I hope." He turned and walked to the elevator to the medical center, not even noticing that he was being surreptitiously followed by a security team.

"Amanda King. Amanda King. Amanda King" He repeated her name over and over like a mantra until the doctor arrived with a needle full of sedative and sent him back onto the grass in that dark park.

"Lucky 100th" he muttered as he worked his way through the crowd until he saw her. Glancing back over his shoulder, he could see the Russians gaining on him. Pushing his way past a group of commuters, he grabbed her and spun her in place. "Amanda King? Come with me."

"Excuse me?" She'd stopped dead in place and wrenched her arm from his grasp. "Who are you? What do you think you're doing? And how do you know my name?"

"It's a long story, and I don't have time to explain. Just walk this way – please!" He tugged at her fruitlessly. He could almost see the whites of Ivan's eyes as they barged down the platform. "Please, just take this parcel and deliver it to IFF at 1565 Constitution Ave. It's a matter of life and death!"

If he could just get her out of there, it would leave him free to take on the goons once and for all – and she'd be clear of the whole thing. She searched his face with a concerned expression, as if she was trying to decide how crazy he was.

"Fine," she said finally, taking the parcel from him. "1565 Constitution Ave? That's in Georgetown right? Because I have to get home in time to get my boys to school still and that's - "

"Mrs. King! Please! Just go!" He practically shoved her toward the exit and with only a small noise of annoyance, she went. He turned to face the Russians, bracing himself for the impact as they tackled him into the luggage cart that was standing nearby. And it all would have been fine, he could have taken them on – if only she hadn't turned and seen what was happening and come racing back to help him. He could only watch helplessly as Ivan backhanded her across the platform as Dmitri drove his fist into Lee's face.