Disclaimer: "Scarecrow and Mrs. King" is copyrighted to Warner Brothers and Shoot the Moon Productions. The plot is mine, but not the characters. This story is meant for enjoyment purposes only. No infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Just a little one-shot idea that I had for Mother's Day. Instead of doing the typical "Amanda's such a great Mom" fic, which of course she is, I wanted to do something to show the softer side of the Colonel. In spite of his gruffness, we all know he has one or he'd never have taken Lee in when he was a child. I hope you all l like it.

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Bolling Air Force Base, 0900 hours, May 9, 1958

Robert Clayton was walking up and down the two parallel rows of Airmen, inspecting each one of them, as they stood stock-still awaiting his orders when he abruptly heard his name being called from behind him.

"Major Clayton," A harried looking young man called out of breath as he hurried toward him.

"What is it," Clayton snapped. "I'm in the middle of something here!"

"I'm sorry, but it's your nephew's school. You're needed there. Th-th-there's been some trouble," the nervous man stammered.

"Thank you," Clayton said with a curt nod dismissing him. "Great," he muttered under his breath. The boy had only been at school for the day for forty-five minutes and already he was in trouble. When he heard a titter and a whisper of "diaper duty" from one of the airmen, He whipped around and demanded, "What did you say, Airman?"

"Nothing, Major," The wayward Airman replied, looking sheepishly at him.

"That's what I thought," the major said with a glower at the younger man. He then turned to another. "Senior Airman Jones, take these men through the training exercises we went over yesterday."

"Yes, Major," Jones responded.

Robert Clayton walked away shaking his head wondering, for the umpteenth time in the past ten months, if he'd made a mistake in taking in his deceased brother's boy after their mother's death. No, it was the right thing to do, he argued with himself. He had a responsibility to his brother and to his mother to care for the only family member he had left. He owed it to them to look after the child, or at least to their memories.

He made arrangements with his superior to leave the base and for a ride to the school to find out what kind of trouble his young nephew was in this time. As he rode through the streets of DC, he couldn't help the wave of grief that struck him at the familiar sites whizzing by. He'd thought that requesting a transfer to Bolling so that Lee could be in a familiar place when so much was unfamiliar to him would help him to adjust better after the losses he'd suffered so young, first losing his parents, then his grandmother who'd looked after him for the two years afterward, but he'd found it difficult to adjust himself. The famed landmarks of the nation's capital merely served as a painful reminder of all that he had lost himself, his brother and sister-in-law, followed two years later by his mother.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he was at the school before he knew it. The Airman who'd driven him had had to say his name three times to get his attention. He started at hearing his name and looked toward the school building, a sense of foreboding gripping him and he couldn't help thinking how ominous the double doors looked. Just get it over with, he told himself. "Thank you." He nodded the Airman. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He then exited the vehicle.

He made his way inside the school building and toward the office where he'd registered Lee for school back in September anxious to find out what was going on. Upon entering the office, he found the almost eight-year-old sitting in a chair along the wall, head hung low as he lightly kicked at the carpet with his feet. He knelt in front of him and said, "You wanna' tell me what's going on, Skip?" When Lee merely shrugged, he probed further, "They tell me that you're refusing to do your class work. You care to tell me why?"

Lee shrugged again and answered softly without looking up, "I dunno.'"

"Don't give me that, Son," Bob scolded. "There's always a reason why we do the things we do. I want to know what your reason is."

"It's stupid!" Lee blurted out. "I don't wanna' do it because I-I-I-" The boy's voice faltered as he tried to blink back the tears that had started to form, knowing that his uncle wouldn't like it if he let them fall. "It's pointless," he said barely audibly.

Clayton swallowed hard as seeing the tears in his nephew's eyes, but tried not to be taken in by it. He had a job to do. He rose, approached the receptionist at the front desk, and inquired, "What is this assignment that my nephew refused to do that has him so upset?"

"To be honest, Sir, I don't know," she replied. "I only know that his teacher, Miss Miller, sent him down here when he refused to participate in a class assignment with the rest of the class."

"I see," Clayton replied with a clenched jaw. "So, you called me about reprimanding my nephew, but don't have one clue what he's being reprimanded for?"

Under his steely gaze, the receptionist sputtered, "I-I-I I'm sorry. I only know what I was told and that I was to call you because he refused to do his class assignment and made a scene by throwing a box of crayons across the room."

"Well, I'd like to speak to this Miss Miller then," The major demanded.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. She's in class with the other students and she can't abandon them."

"Then you'll just have to direct me to her classroom and I'll speak to her there!"

"You can't do that, Sir. I can't allow you to disrupt the class when the other children are trying to work." She glanced at Lee with a slightly disdainful look.

"Then I suggest you get someone else to look after her class," Bob demanded. "I'm not leaving here until I find out what this is all about!"

"What's going on out here," A male voice questioned from the doorway of an inner office.

"What's going on here," Bob replied, "Is that I was called away from a training exercise with my men to take care of my nephew getting in trouble, but this young lady here," he nodded to the receptionist, "can't seem to tell me exactly what the trouble is."

"I apologize, Sir," the man said. He then conferred with the receptionist in a hushed tone for a moment and then turned back to Bob. "I'm Christopher Weir, the vice-principal here and I assure you that I will find out what happened," he told him in a soothing tone. "I'll get one of the teacher's aides to watch Miss Miller's class if I have to," he added just before exiting the room.

Bob turned back to his nephew, "So, before he gets back, is there anything you want to tell me?" Lee shook his head. "Come on, Son, level with me, something made you cry."

"I'm not crying," Lee denied defiantly.

Bob gave him a who-are-you-trying-to-kid look and responded, "Maybe not now, but you were. So, tell me why? Or maybe you could tell me why you threw that box of crayons."

"NO!" Lee answered loudly. "It's not fair!"

"Lee," Bob said in a warning tone. "Come on; tell me what's not fair."

"NO!" Lee shouted again. "Leave me alone!"

Clayton shook his head and let out a deep sigh wondering how he was going to continue to deal with this surly child. He hadn't been prepared for fatherhood and hadn't the foggiest idea of how to proceed with his brother's son. As he looked at the boy with his pouty, challenging facial expressions, he couldn't help but be reminded of Matthew in their younger years when they used to squabble the way that brothers do. Lee was growing to resemble him more every day, not just in his looks, but in his personality as well. Another wave of grief washed over him as he thought of the day that he'd laid his brother to rest, the twin coffins draped with American flags side by side as a minister had spouted meaningless words about them being in the arms of God and moving on to a better place. The memories were still fresh in his mind as was the hurt caused by Matt and Jennie's deaths. Had it really been almost three years since that day?

His thoughts were interrupted by a lilting female voice, "Mr. Stetson?"

He turned to find himself facing a twenty-something brunette with an obviously phony smile pasted on her face along with the vice-principal. "First of all, it's Clayton," Bob replied coolly. "And it's Major, not Mister." He'd worked hard to attain that rank and had just finished the training required to take on the supervisory position six months ago. He didn't appreciate her making him look soft in front of the men he now supervised. "Now, what is so damned important that it couldn't wait until the end of the school day?"

"Well, Major Clayton," she began. "I'm afraid that Lee here has refused to participate in a class assignment-"

"So, I've been told," Bob interrupted. "What I want to know is, what is this assignment?" He nodded toward Lee. "Whatever it is has upset him, so there must be a valid reason that he's refusing to do it."

The teacher looked to the vice-principal who nodded for her to continue. "It's an art project...for Mother's Day," she explained. "The children were assigned to create hand-made-"

Bob held up a hand to stop her. "Enough!' He gaped at the young teacher incredulously. "Do you people understand this boy's circumstances?"

"I-I-I don't know what you mean?"

"I mean..." Bob said menacingly, "that I'm the only family this child has. It's no wonder he was upset by your assignment. How can you ask an orphaned child to create something for Mother's Day when he doesn't have a mother to give it to?"

"I-I-I I'm sorry. I-I-I didn't know," She sputtered, "But I have to be fair to all the children and I'm afraid that if he doesn't complete the assignment, I'll have to give him a zero for the day, which wouldn't help his overall grade."

"Woman, do you have any compassion in your heart whatsoever," Bob bellowed, his eyes flaring in anger at her insensitive treatment of his only living relative, a child who'd already been through more hell than most adults could handle.

"Miss Miller," The vice-principal said gently. "Perhaps, given his situation, you could find some other project for Lee to work on."

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I don't feel that would be fair to the other children," she answered.

"How is this type of assignment fair to him?" Bob retorted.

"You're right," Miss Miller concurred. "It's not, but I can't let him sit idly and not do something while all the other children are working."

"There must be some kind of compromise that can be worked ou-" He broke off as a thought occurred to him. "Would you mind giving me a moment alone with my nephew?"

The vice-principal and the teacher looked at one another and Mr. Weir answered, "I don't see why not. That is why you were called down here, after all."

Bob reached for his nephew's hand and said, "Come on, Skip, let's take a walk.

As they stepped outside the building, he proposed his idea to his young charge whose eyes lit up. "Can we really do that?" he asked his guardian.

"I don't see why not," Bob replied. "We should have done it a long time ago when we first moved here, but listen, you have to promise me not to get into any more trouble and do just what you're told the rest of the day. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir," Lee answered gleefully.

"Good. Now, you run on back to class and I'll talk to your teacher." He sighed again as he watched Lee run off and he made his way back to the office. "All right, he'll do the assignment," Bob said plainly, "but I want it known that I disapprove of the insensitivity that's been shown to my nephew. That child has suffered a profound loss and to make him relive it is just cruel. I plan to have a word with the school board regarding this." Without giving them a chance to respond, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Arlington National Cemetery, 1200 hours, May 11, 1958

Robert walked through row after row of headstones, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, his nephew clinging tightly to his other until they reached their destination. "Here we are, Skip," He said softly to Lee.

Bob released his nephew's hand as he knelt before the grave markers, brushed away loose bits of grass from the front of Jennie's and placed the flowers at the base of it. He nodded toward Lee and the handmade contraction paper card in his hand. "Go on, Son."

Lee knelt beside his uncle, perused his handiwork for a moment before placing it with the flowers. "Happy Mother's Day, Mommy!" Lee whispered reverently. "I miss you."

Bob swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat as he glanced at his nephew's creation. He'd drawn a representation of his mother as an angel complete with harp and a halo covered in gold glitter.

Lee looked up at his uncle and asked hesitantly, "D-d-do you think she'll see it from heaven?"

"Yes, Lee, I believe she will," Bob answered as he ruffled his hair affectionately, "And I think she'll love it!" He turned back to gaze at the engraved names with a reverent look on his face.

The pair stayed there quietly, each lost in their own thoughts as they stared at the pair of headstones. Lee slipped his small hand into his larger one and said softly, "Thank you, Uncle Bob."

Bob smiled slightly, but didn't look around, as he didn't want his nephew to see the tears that had begun to form in his eyes. He simply said, "You're welcome," and squeezed his hand.