Disclaimer: These characters are solely the property of Warner Bros and Shoot the Moon Enterprises; no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: This is the most literally AU thing I've ever written. Not just alternate canon, but actual alternate universe. Let me know what you think!

Slow Off the Mark

There'd been none of the itching he'd always been told about, that ticklish sparking of nerve endings that was supposed to accompany its arrival. Then again, he'd been distracted by the beating he'd gotten from those thugs and he never in a million years thought it would happen to him, so along with all the frustrations of the case, he'd missed it entirely until the whole thing was long over and it had to be pointed out to him by his latest blonde-of-the week.

He hadn't paid attention when the nurse in the Agency clinic made a remark about "adding that to your distinguishing marks list", assuming she'd meant the stitches. He'd thought the congratulations she'd added on the end was a sarcastic comment on his uncanny ability to survive regular beatings like this.

No, he hadn't known a thing until that tiny hiss of annoyance from his date just after she'd pushed his shirt off and he'd turned to drop it over the chair in her over-perfumed bedroom. He was never neat at home about where his clothes landed, but he'd long since learned to make sure his clothes were easy to grab in places where he might need a quick escape. It rapidly became apparent this was going to be one of those times when he turned to see why she'd made that noise and found her glaring at him, tapping a foot angrily.

"The first thing I ever said to you was 'Hello there, Handsome', you jerk!" she spat at him furiously.

He still hadn't twigged, even then. "Yeah, so?" he said in a confused tone.

She walked around him and jabbed his right shoulder blade. "So that's not what it says here!"

He twisted, as if he'd be able to see for himself, spinning in place like an idiot. "What are you talking about? I don't have anything written there!" He was sure he didn't – his date the previous week hadn't said anything and he was sure he would have felt something that important happening to him. "What does it say?"

The angry blonde smirked at him. "Lots of luck figuring out who she is, Lee. All it says is 'Excuse me?' – and a hundred people must have said that to you this week alone." She walked over to pick up his shirt and throw it at him. "You can show yourself out. I'm not feeling polite enough to throw you out personally."

He'd pulled the shirt back on, grabbed his suit jacket and tie and hightailed it out of there, straight back to his apartment where he could stand with his back to the bathroom mirror and a pocket mirror in his hand, staring at the clear cursive writing that traced across his back. Excuse me?

It was pretty ironic given that he'd thrown himself wholeheartedly into his job for years, so certain that he'd never have a soulmate mark and then it had been the job that distracted him from even noticing it arriving.

"How is that possible?" he asked his reflection. "Everyone always talks about how much they itch when they appear! And how could it be something so useless? Even the full resources of the Agency couldn't help me find her with nothing but that to go on."

Now that he knew about it, the itching seemed to ramp up, getting worse the longer he went without figuring it out. It had appeared in just the right spot for his shoulder holster strap to rub against it, so much so that he debated switching to some other way to carry his sidearm but eventually he'd just gotten used to it. It wasn't any more annoying really than the way Francine kept teasing him about that last case and how he'd been rescued by a housewife (conveniently leaving out the part where she had been too) or the way Billy kept suggesting ways they could use that same housewife on cases that cropped up.

"If Amanda King can keep a straight head and fly a helicopter without even a single lesson, Scarecrow, then she's just the kind of outside-the-box thinker we could use around here."

He didn't know why she got under his skin so much. There was just something in her expression all the time as if she knew something about him, something he tried to keep hidden. She made him feel exposed when she turned that clear doe-eyed look on him and more than a little bit like he wasn't living up to something she expected from him. Maybe it was her lack of instant admiration, the kind he was used to getting from women that bugged him. He didn't like thinking that either – that he might be the kind of guy whose self-worth was wrapped up in how other people rated him. That would be too much like his childhood with his uncle, never quite measuring up – he pushed the thought aside. It didn't matter; it wasn't like he'd ever see her again.

Or so he thought. He'd assumed Billy had been kidding about hiring her until she showed up in the lobby that day, wittering on about family history, and pulling her shirt cuffs nervously as if she was cold. She was actually kind of sweet and it had almost bothered him to see the hurt in her eyes when he'd made it clear there was no place for someone like her at the Agency. But the hurt expression had only lasted a split second before it been overtaken by a sparkle of annoyance and she'd slammed the clipboard against his chest and walked out of the building without a backward glance.

All of which had made it extra humiliating when he'd had to chase her down at that job interview and beg her to help him again. She'd yelled at him all the way down 13th Street and the only time he'd managed to interrupt the flow of words was when she'd asked just what exactly she was supposed to do to help him. When he'd responded that he needed her to play his wife, she had actually turned to flee and the humiliation had increased tenfold as he'd chased her down the block. The flight response was definitely not the reaction he'd ever expected to get from a woman when he suggested they be his wife. He could only pray Amanda never told that part to Francine or he'd never hear the end of it.

"What are you doing?" she squeaked as he walked past her heading up the stairs.

"I'm going to bed," he answered "You coming?" and watched her eyes widen in horror. Despite knowing her just long enough by now to know that it was simply Amanda being shy, for some reason it really got to him that she'd think that he was going to jump her given half a chance. "Get your mind out of the gutter, will ya?" he snapped, turning to walk up the stairs, pulling his shirt off as he went. He turned at the small gasp he heard behind him and turned in time to see her raise her eyes to meet his. She looked furious and he had no idea why.

"You said no Mrs. Spy," she said accusingly. "You said you were a lone wolf! You said you liked to be alone!"

"I do like being alone!" The mark on his back was suddenly scalding him – he felt like he could actually feel it spreading.

"No, no, no, no, you don't! Nobody gets one of those without wanting one!" She was shaking a finger at him now. "You have a soulmate mark, Lee Stetson and even you must know what that means!"

"It doesn't mean anything!" he snarled.

"Of course it means something! Not everyone gets them, you know. For goodness' sake, didn't your parents ever give you the Talk?"

"No, because they never got the chance!" He couldn't keep it from slipping out, recoiling at the pity that appeared on her face the instant she realized what he meant. "It's just two stupid words. It doesn't mean anything!" He turned and stormed up the stairs, unable to bear that look any longer.

"It's not just words!" he heard her call after him right before he slammed the bedroom door and collapsed back against it, breathing heavily. Almost immediately he could feel the searing pain across his back and pushed off from the door as if afraid he'd set fire to it.

He stalked into the bathroom and twisted to try and see his back in the mirror, to see why it was hurting so much and felt his eyes bug out. The simple cursive script was still there but now it was surrounded by an intricate design of Celtic knots twined together with chains of tiny yellow flowers. "What the hell?" he muttered as he slumped against the bathroom counter.

It finally hit him then, the two-by-four of sudden realization and before he knew it, he was out of the room and hurtling down the stairs, taking them two at a time in his haste. He found her sitting curled up on the couch, hugging a throw pillow, looking up with an apprehensive expression as he half-slid into the room and stared at her.

"You?" he gasped out. "It can't be you!"

"Well, thank you so much," she answered icily, hugging the pillow closer as if in defense.

"I don't mean it like that!" He ran his hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. "I mean, how could I not know it was you?" He paused suddenly, thrown off by the look on her face. "It is you, isn't it?" He hated how desperately hopeful he sounded.

She didn't answer, just began to unbutton the cuff of her shirt. For the first time he realized he'd never seen her bare arms; she always had on a sweater, a blazer, a coat – anything to keep herself covered. He watched, holding his breath as she rolled up her left sleeve and held her arm out, then releasing it with a whoosh as he saw it: the entire lower part of her arm was covered in a pale blue plaid pattern and written over it on bold print "Just walk with me".

She looked up at him with a laughing grimace. "It was hell trying to explain it to my mother when I got home from the train station."

"It came up that fast?" he asked wonderingly, sinking onto the couch beside her to take her hand in his and slowly beginning to trace the words with a fingertip.

"Yeah." A shadow of concern went over her face. "Didn't yours?"

"I don't know," he laughed. "I was kind of busy being beaten up about thirty seconds later."

"Oh, that's right." She sounded relieved as if he'd explained more than just that one thing.

"If you had this right away, why did you take off when I found you at Moby Dick's?" he asked in confusion. "And why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Well, that first time I just panicked. The boys were with me and it was such a shock to suddenly see you there when I thought I'd never see you again and I don't know – I just ran. And then the next time I saw you, you didn't say anything, so I didn't either and then when I tried to kind of hint about it, you were so adamant about being a loner that I thought maybe mine was just a mistake – a kind of one-sided thing, you know?"

He looked up and met her eyes apologetically. "I never meant to hurt you – I didn't even know I had mine until three days ago. I'm so sorry." He twisted around fruitlessly trying to see his own back. "And even then, it was just the words, none of this other stuff."

She reached out tentatively to touch it. "You mean all the knots and stuff? That kinda makes sense – I only got the words the first day. It took a while for the pattern to form around it, the more time I spent around you."

He twisted back and picked up her hand to let his fingers continue to rub softly over her mark. "My mother's looked almost exactly like this except I think hers was more green." He looked up to meet her eyes and shrugged. "They died when I was five so I can't really remember. Maybe my uncle knows…" the words trailed off. "I'm so sorry – you're supposed to know your soulmate right away and all I did was push you away instead."

"Well, you were a little distracted trying to save the world, I guess." She was smiling but her eyes had the sheen of unshed tears.

"No, I was just being a jerk," he admitted, pleased when this provoked a gurgle of laughter from her. "But you still kept showing up," he went on, in an amazed tone.

"Well, that's what soulmates do, isn't it? Show up when you need them?"

"Well you certainly did that," Lee agreed. He twined his fingers through hers and looked at her earnestly. "I never thought I'd have one, never thought I deserved one, let alone one who would show up and take on killer Russians. Talk about showing up when I needed you."

She placed her free hand over his. "Didn't you ever stop to think maybe it was the other way around?"

His confused look told her he really hadn't.

"I married my ex against my better judgement, thinking that if we loved each other enough, it wouldn't matter, but it did. And I love the boys we made together, but they weren't enough to carry us through either. But it's hard being alone, you know?" He nodded. "And Dean really wanted me to marry him, and I'd started to give up hope too, you know, and I might have made that same mistake all over again… And then you showed up, this crowd of people just parted like the Red Sea and you were there, right when I needed you."

Her voice cracked just as she finished speaking and that it seemed was the straw that broke the camel's back. Without a thought, he pulled her into his arms, pausing just for an instant to give her time to change her mind before his lips met hers. If there'd been any doubt in either of them up to that moment, it was swept away in the spine-tingling electrical charge that ran through them both at that first kiss. Without breaking it, Lee pulled her closer until she was in his lap, one hand running through his hair, the other arm wrapped around his bare back so that her mark rested against his. Even among all the other sensations their kiss was provoking, they could both feel the warming glow as their marks touched for the first time and broke apart to smile at each other in wonder.

"Oh, wow," was all Amanda managed to breathe out before her soulmate pulled her back into an enveloping embrace.