This silly story draws shamelessly on the wit of Monty Python, all the lame bits are mine alone.

The pulse of a light blinking below a small video screen on the desk announced the arrival of Operations at her door. Within an instant of the doors sliding open, he was in front of her desk.

"Yes" Madeline prompted disinterestedly, her attention focused on the large screen in front of her.

Operations stood belligerently by the desk, his irritation at this cursory greeting manifest in his stiff posture and burgeoning scowl. He plunged his hands into his pockets, waiting. When it seemed obvious she was determined to have him bristling before she gave him her attention, he thumped his hands down on her desk, angrily.

"Madeline!"

"Yes?" she repeated, pivoting her body sparingly towards him. A few seconds later her head made a slow, graceful arc from the screen to his face, one eyebrow raised in a mocking approximation of interest. "Did you want something?"

"Yes, god damn it, I want something!" he answered sarcastically, starting to pace in front of her desk. "Michael's Team just arrived back."

She didn't answer immediately, merely crossed her legs slowly and folded her hands in her lap.

"So?" she sighed, preparing herself for the inevitable.

"I want some answers about why a routine extraction ended in an unqualified fiasco."

"Shouldn't you be discussing this with Michael."

"All in good time, first I'd like some answers from you, Madeline, since you approved the profile."

"Yes" she sighed reluctantly, clasping her hands on the desk.

"I have four Operatives down in MedLab, Madeline, yet our intel indicated they were going into a clean zone and the hostiles were unarmed." He raised his eyebrows in a questioning frown.

"It's seems we underestimated their resourcefulness."

"Underestimated their resourcefulness ... ?" he repeated, fuming. "Two Class One Operatives were taken out of play with what appeared to be a saucepan and a garden spade. Unbelievable. Oversight is going to have a field day with this."

"It was a ... non-standard engagement. I'll be reviewing the mission tapes closely."

"Non-standard!? Nikita reported that one of them threatened her with a piece of fruit!"

"Yes, I know" she answered crisply, turning back to her computer screen. "Was there anything else?" she asked with a glance towards him.

"The two they managed to extract are going through containment now. I want something salvaged from this mess, Madeline. Report to the White Room, I want you to supervise the interrogation. We need to find out who they are and who's backing this group. I don't believe for one minute they're operating in isolation. "

"I gave Michael the assignment" she answered firmly, studying some data on the screen. "I'm busy" she added, as though swatting at an irritating mosquito.

"Michael just checked himself into MedLab" Operations hissed with glee.

Madeline turned sharply, her interest piqued.

"There's no record of him being among the injured in the preliminary report."

"No" Operations confirmed smugly.

"So... ?" Madeline asked, intrigued. "Neglecting, at least for the moment, the obvious irregularity of Michael willingly submitting himself to MedLab, I'd be interested to know what reasons he gave for evading my directive?"

Operations leaned down, arms resting against her desk. "One that you are *intimately* familiar with" he whispered smugly, savouring each word as though it were 30 year old scotch passing his lips.

"And that would be..." Madeline affected in a disinterested tone.

"A *headache*" he answered triumphantly, the corner of his lip twitching uncontrollably.

"A headache" she echoed incredulously, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms against her chest. Resisting the temptation to respond to the subtext behind his words. "And you accepted this?" she queried, unable to hide her irritation at his self-satisfied smirk.

A feral grin broke out on Operations face as he leaned in even closer.

"Under the circumstances, yes" he answered, noticing with satisfaction the involuntary jump of nerves as his warm breath brushed past her ear.

Madeline's eyebrows raised slowly as she returned his gaze, holding it for a long moment. She turned back to her computer screen, punching in a string of keystrokes and bringing up an image of the White Room. Two men sat, side by side, restrained in individual chairs. Even without activating the audio feed, she could see they were talking animatedly, perhaps even arguing. She sat watching for a while before turning back to Operations.

"What ... *circumstances*?" she finally deigned to ask.

"I'm sure it will become obvious ... in the fullness of time" he smiled as he removed his hands from her desk and plunged them gleefully into his pockets.

With a nod of his head he walked briskly to the door and disappeared behind the soundless hiss of grey steel.

Madeline turned back to her computer and engaged the audio feed. She listened for a while, eyes fixed to the screen, then with a weary sigh stood and made her way to the White Room.

*******

The animated discussion within the White Room came to an abrupt halt as the door swung open and she entered. Two men sat happily, smiling up at her expectantly.

"Hello" she smiled in greeting, somewhat disconcerted by their cheerful demeanour. She clasped her hands behind her back and moved to stand in front of them, appraising each man.

"Hello" the larger man on the left replied before she had the chance to continue. "I was wondering when someone would pop-in for a bit of chat. Lovely place you have here, by the way. Can I have a cup of tea please?"

"And a biscuit?" the smaller man added enthusiastically, "maybe chocolate or a nice milk arrowroot."

"Don't push it, Stan" the other admonished. He rolled his eyes in exaggerated exasperation as he looked towards Madeline. "A cup of tea will do for starters" he added, smiling serenely.

"Stan, is it?" Madeline smiled impassively at the smaller man.

"Well ...."

"Oh god, don't get him started" the other man interjected. "He's Stan and I'm Reg, very nice to meet you, and you are ...?" He went to lift his hand in greeting before remembering the restraints. With a self-depreciating roll of his eyes, he shrugged. "Forgot these" he grinned, "ummm ... can I get a straw with the cup of tea."

"Oh yes, a straw, lovely" Stan added with a grin. "Wouldn't be very good manners to have us lapping at our tea like a couple of cats. Or sheep."

"I'd like to ask you a few questions" Madeline stated blandly, looking from one man to the other.

"I've got a question" Stan replied thoughtfully. "Do sheep lap?"

Madeline quickly replaced her lower jaw from where a sudden lapse had it swinging indelicately down around her knees.

"I suppose they do" Reg considered. "Though probably, like most ruminates, they rasp, rather than lap. Still I don't suppose it much matters to a sheep does it. It's not like they'd be tucking into a nice cup of tea and suddenly stop, thinking to themselves 'my god, I'm lapping when I should be rasping, perhaps I'm a tiger?'" He winked conspiratorially at Madeline. "I mean, let's face it, sheep are a bit dim."

Madeline glared at Reg, her fingers subconsciously clenching into a fist until her knuckles were white. She stood menacingly in front of him, lips poised to speak.

"There you go, putting sheep down again. Me, I love sheep" Stan smiled.

"If I could ..." Madeline snapped angrily before she was cut off again.

"Don't get me wrong Stan, so do I. Terrific animals. Just terrific."

"And no trouble. Except at shearing. They can play up a bit, then, can't they?"

"Oh, yeah, but I like that sort of little burst of frenzy they have then, you know. I like it when they get a little bit angry. Shows they're human."

"Well, you'd be a bit angry too, wouldn't you, if you had a great pair of scissors snippin' away while someone held your back legs apart. You'd wiggle a bit. You'd kick up a bit of a fuss. Heh?"

"I want..." Madeline started again, her body so tense and alert that she imagined she could feel her fingernails growing.

"Yeah, I suppose I would, Reg. I-- I'm not saying I just expect them to stand around in the fields and nibble the grass and look a bit pretty. I-- I'm not saying that.

"Terrific animals."

"Gentlemen!" Madeline hissed, her deadly warning tone completely lost on her captives.

"Yeah. They're so sure-footed" Reg observed.

"And always cheerful. Well, except at shearing. Heheheh."

"Why are you always on about shearing, Stan?"

"I'm not always on about it, Reg."

"Yes you are. Of all the moments in their little lives, you unerringly put your finger on the one moment where they lose a little bit of dignity. Well, I regard that as cheap, quite honestly."

"Gentlemen!" Madeline tried again.

"Don't get me wrong Reg, I actually like their behaviour at shearing. I actually like them when they get a little bit cross. I find that endearing. The only other animals that I would be remotely interested in watching would be.... cats. Do they have flocks of cats, Reg?"

"Ummm... no, I don't think so, Stan. But can you imagine it, herds of cats... waiting to be sheared? Meow! Meow! Woo hoo hoo."

"Gentlemen!" Madeline shouted, taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to regain her composure. For one glorious second there was silence in the room. And then....

"Don't you like sheep?" Reg asked sympathetically.

"Maybe she doesn't like cats" Stan added, shaking his head thoughtfully.

"It is *irrelevant*" she screeched, exasperated, moving to stand closer to them, her lips poised, ready to continue but too slow to get the words out.

"Well obviously it isn't, you seem upset. Have you have a bad encounter with a sheep?" Stan enquired with genuine interest.

"No" she barked tersely, her teeth grinding in irritation. "Enough with the inane chatter. I want you to answer some questions, now!"

"Ahh yes" Reg nodded in agreement, "back to the business at hand. White with one, please."

"What?" Madeline growled, caught off guard yet again. Her eyes flicked disconcertingly from one man to the other as her body resolutely refused to be brought back under command.

"My tea" Reg offered helpfully. "I like it with milk, one sugar. Stan has his weak and black."

"Thanks Reg, now is when I usually make my quip about ..."

"*There * will * be * no * tea*" Madeline spat out slowly through gritted teeth. "You will answer my questions" she continued, speaking slowly, dripping venom. "I want to know what organisation you work for."

"Coffee then?" Reg offered.

"I don't think she likes sheep, Reg."

Madeline sighed dramatically. As their conversation continued happily without her she had the an errant thought that perhaps she was dreaming or had been abducted by aliens. That would explain the strange green toothpaste she had found in the bathroom this morning. She pinched herself, hard, then sighed again. It hurt. It appeared she was, actually, in this room, at this moment, just wishing she had been abducted by aliens. She sighed again.

She looked over the towards the two men babbling merrily away, silently cursing Operations, and Michael, and Nikita, and Birkoff, and Walter, and that strange man in the cafeteria yesterday. She hated all of them because they were lucky enough not to be here. She sighed, again. Then sighed because she realised she had sighed again. Enough sighing, she admonished herself.

Control slowly returned with the familiar action of smoothing the front of her jacket down across her skirt. She fashioned her face into a comforting smile. A small click of her heels almost brought out a giggle as thoughts of Kansas drifted fleetingly across her consciousness. Hackles up she prepared for the kill. Selecting her victim, she leaned her arms down against the hand rests of the chair restraining Stan, leaning perilously close to his face.

"Actually Stan, I've never really given it much thought. I suppose sheep can be quite ... *nice*?" She smiled affectionately, leaning in closer. "But let's not quibble about sheep any more, let's talk about the group you work for, Stan."

"I'd really prefer if you'd call me Loretta" Stan whispered with sudden deference to the face twitching menacingly close to his.

"Loretta?" Madeline repeated, momentarily thrown off balance.

"Yes ... Loretta."

"Why should I call you 'Loretta', Stan?" Madeline asked, intrigued despite her better judgement.

"Oh god" Reg groaned, "don't get him started."

"It is symbolic of our struggle against oppression" Stan parroted proudly.

"Oppression from whom?" Madeline asked with a sigh, dissapointed to find the interest had vanished and the sigh had returned.

Stan looked hopefully towards Reg.

"The Imperialist Aggressors, of course" Reg offered.

"That's right, brother" Stan added. "We are fighting the oppressors for my right to have babies."

"Pssst..."

Madeline blinked slowly, rubbing futilely at her temples to slow the progress of the massive headache building behind her eyes. "Pssst..." she heard again. She looked across to Reg, who was gesturing wildly with his head, nodding her over to him.

"Yes?" she sighed wearily, moving towards him.

"I don't know your name" Reg whispered.

"You don't need to" she replied caustically, holding his gaze, irritation radiating from every pore.

Reg winked dramatically. "I get it" he nodded enthusiastically, "nods as good as wink to a blind bat eh?"

Madeline's brow creased in a tragic frown. "What?" she stuttered.

Reg grinned, nodding his head. "Listen, whoever you are, oh and by the way, I might just add from one ... you know" he winked yet again, his voice getting very low "to another, that I'm very impressed with your little set-up here. I wouldn't mind seeing your catalogue before we go home. Anyway, about Stan..."

"Loretta" Stan corrected as he started a humming the opening theme to Okalahoma. This disturbed Madeline deeply. Chiefly because she recognised it was the opening theme of Okalahoma.

Reg glared across at him then turned back to Madeline. "I don't want you to get the wrong impression. What we have agreed is that although Stan ...

"Loretta" Stan corrected again, in between the chorus and the second stanza.

"Sorry brother" Reg nodded.

"Sister" Stan slipped out as he started from the beginning again.

"Right! So what we have agreed is that although Loretta, can't actually have babies, not having a womb and all, which is nobody's fault, not even the Imperialist Pigs, we will fight for his...

"... her." Stan has slipped into a new tune, something she remembered Dean Martin singing. Very disturbing.

"... her inalienable right to have babies. Notwithstanding the aforementioned clause, of course."

"I see" Madeline replied rubbing a hand across her forehead. "An interesting charter for a terrorist group, not quite the sort of thing we get here every day" she observed indulgently.

Reg glared at her, his expression shifting rapidly from indignation to anguish.

"Well, I mean, there's so many groups out there today, isn't there" he began, his voice whimsical. "All fighting for the same old thing with their fancy hideouts and fancy bombs and fancy gadgets and smart outfits." Reg shrugged, swallowing back a sob. "Call me old fashioned, but I miss the old days, a bit of chalk and some twigs on the floor as planned an attack, secret handshakes, the rub of pantyhose on your face." He sniffed a stream of tears rolling down his cheeks. "Ohhh... I am sorry..."

"Don't torture yourself like this, Reg" Stan crooned sympathetically. He looked to Madeline with an angry pout. "You people really are cruel" he admonished, "you'll do anything to make us talk, won't you. Poor Reg, you made him cry. I think you should go and have a long hard think about what you've done, young missy!"

Madeline stared at him, lips moving in anticipation of words that had suddenly been lost in the journey from vocal chords to mouth. With a trembling hand she keyed in a sequence on the data panel by the door. A few moments later the door opened and the torture twins entered. Both heads turned to Madeline, looking for guidance. Madeline shrugged and waved her hand vaguely at the men behind her.

"Pain" she managed to whisper as shaky legs carried her on the astonishingly long journey to the corridor outside the White Room.

As the door closed behind her she heard Stan exclaim. "Ohh, aren't you two cute, I hope you've got some biscuits in those suitcases. That's just what poor Reg needs, isn't it Reg?"

The door clanged shut and then there was silence. Blessed silence.

*****************

Madeline sat at her desk, the tumbler of whisky in front of her already half finished. She punched the send key on the intercom angrily.

"Birkoff, find Michael and have him come to my office immediately. I don't care where he is! And send Nikita as well" she snapped.

"Yes Madeline" came the quick reply.

She slumped her elbows down on the desk, swallowing the rest of the whisky with a grimace. The doors opened and she looked up, expecting to see Michael. Instead Operations breezed in and sat on the edge of her desk.

"I take it things are going well?" he asked wryly, staring at the whisky bottle and the now empty glass in front of her.

Madeline glared at him.

"George wants a brief on the mission, Madeline. I can't keep stalling him, do you have *anything* for me?" he asked.

Madeline ignored him, cradling her chin in her hands while a finger pulled distractedly at an errant strand of hair. Her glazed eyes stared vacuously at the plants decorating the far wall.

"Madeline!?"

"Do you like sheep, Paul?" she finally asked, her voice soft and whimsical.

"Do I ... *what*!" Paul exclaimed incredulously.

"Never mind" Madeline shrugged, sitting up in her chair and straightening her skirt. "I don't have anything, other than a splitting headache which I'd be more than happy for you to give to George. I'm sure you'll think of something to offer him, you always do. In the meantime..."

Her attention was drawn to the entrance to her office. Michael walked in, slowly, assuming a strained disinterest as he stood casually in front of her desk.

"You wanted to see me" Michael stated softly, eyes flicking transiently to the bottle on her desk before turning his full attention to her.

"Where's Nikita? I wanted to see her as well" Madeline snapped.

"She's not coming" Michael replied evenly, looking briefly towards Operations.

"Since when has that been her decision?" Madeline seethed.

Michael broke eye contact with her, his lips stretching into a thin line. "I authorised Nikita to take twelve hours down time."

"*You* did?" Operations asked.

"Yes" Michael replied calmly.

"Why?" he asked, only vaguely interested in the answer.

"When I informed her she was required to assist on a follow up interrogation to the last mission, she indicated she would rather be cancelled."

"So?"

Michael turned to stare at Operations, then slowly turned his gaze back to Madeline. "That would require approval from Oversight. I considered that further attention directed towards us at this time may not be desirable."

"Oh god, he's right" Madeline groaned, pouring herself another drink.

"Madeline, pull yourself together. You're expected back in the White Room soon, you need to be ready" Operations hissed.

"I *am* getting ready" she replied deliriously, taking a long gulp, lips smacking together appreciatively as she swallowed. She smiled at Operations then turned her attention to Michael, the thin smile turning savage. "Michael, you're up next."

"But I..." Michael stuttered in horror that he had stuttered.

"Nope, don't care. I don't want to hear any excuses."

Michael let out a deep sigh, blinking slowly.

"Madeline?" Birkoff's voice intruded over the intercom.

"Yes" she replied jovially, eyes fascinated by the nervous twitch in Michael's jaw as it spread to his ears, then eyebrows, then...

"I've just been requested to send a MedLab team to the White Room."

Finally, things were starting to look up.

"Thank you Birkoff. Let me know when our guests will be available for further questioning."

Madeline exchanged an insane grin with Michael, the temptation to do a high five almost impossible to subdue.

"Ummm ... Madeline?" Birkoff's voice interrupted again.

"What?" she replied, her tone suddenly wary.

"*They* are ready now." Birkoff's voice was almost a whisper.

Madeline's head flopped onto the desk, her eye's staring vacantly ahead.

"What do you mean 'they're' ready now'?" Operations mimicked viciously. "Why the hell did you send them to MedLab?"

"Well ... erghh... it wasn't the hostiles that required medical assistance, Sir" Birkoff squeaked.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Operations asked, completely exasperated.

"It's the Torture Twins, Sir, we're not sure what happened. I haven't had time to review the audio feed but the visual surveillance doesn't show any anomalies. It appears they were just ... talking. Ummmm ...."

"Spit it out Birkoff..." Operations huffed.

"They've been moved to Level 3 for psych evaluation. Apparently ... they ... umm... keep ... bleating and ... ergh ... asking for a cup of tea and then lapping at the air. Sir."

"Bleating?" Operations shook his head in frustration, turning to Madeline for an explanation. "What the hell is going on here, has everyone gone mad?" he roared, his face turning an interesting shade of magenta.

"Tell them to put a straw in the cup Birkoff" Madeline sighed as her forehead dropped gracefully to the desk with an audible thud, that was quickly followed by another.

"Ummm... okay. I'll let you know as soon as I have anything more."

"Thank you Birkoff" Operations scowled. He let out a deep sigh of frustration as he watched Michael walk over to the sideboard and return with a glass.

"May I?" Michael enquired glumly.

Madeline lifted her head, waving a hand distractedly towards the bottle on her desk. "Fill mine first" she sighed.

***************

Michael popped a mint in his mouth as he pushed down on the lever to release door. It clicked open easily, offering less resistance than his traitorous legs as they propelled him into the room.

"Hello" a voice announced cheerfully, "who have we got here?"

"It's that sweet young man in black that brought us in. How lovely. This is more like it, Reg."

"How are that nice young couple with all the gadgets doing? She looked a worrying shade of green when they wheeled her out. I hope you people have a health plan."

"I'm sure they would, look at the smart suit."

"Doesn't say much, does he. The strong silent type."

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?"

"Good one Stan."

"I ...I ..." Michael tried, horrified that he was stuttering again.

"You...." they replied helpfully in unison.

"I I I wwwant..." he tried again.

"I want to ... " Reg suggested.

"III wwwant tttto..." Michael repeated. "... get you both a cup of tea?" Stan supplied.

Eyebrows raised, two expectant faces turned to him.

"I want to ask you some questions" Michael speed through the words, desperate to get them out intact.

"Super. What did you want to know?" Reg inquired amicably.

"Wwwwhhho do you work for?" Michael blurted, feeling a little more confidence return, wishing he could have another drink.

"That was better, he seems to be getting the hang of it now Reg."

"Not exactly the Spanish Inquisition though, is it Stan?"

"Well, no, but still, give the lad a chance. He's just warming up."

"Looks like he's already *warmed up*, if you know what I mean, nudge, nudge, wink, wink."

"Hmm... now that you mention it. Still, I just want him to get to the exciting part, you know, when I get to say in a deep, James Bond sort of voice 'mine aren't but the Big Cheese gets his at low tide tonight Cardinal Biggles'. I love it when I get to say that. I say, could you ask me?"

"Aaaarrsk yuuu whwhwhat?" Michael stuttered, again. "Harskk uuu..."he tried once more before giving up completely and staggering over towards the door.

"You know Stan, I have a theory."

"What is your theory, Reg?"

"What is my theory?"

"Yes!"

"Well you may ask what my theory is."

"Well, I am asking" Stand replied, just a hint of irritation surfacing in his voice.

Reg' answer was cut short by a mighty crack as the door swung violently open, sending Michael sprawling across the floor in its wake. Nikita strode in, slamming the door behind and she closed the distance to the two startled men in the centre of the room. Her hands clenched menacingly as she leaned in towards the captives.

"You two, again" she hissed, inches from Stan's trembling proboscis. "This better be good or else I'll ... Michael?" she demanded, eyes skewering her victim.

"Onn.. tthhhee ... ffflllooorrrr" Stan stammered, his voice a good three octaves above normal due to the strategic placement of Nikita's hand as she held the only things that made him Stan and not Loretta.

"What...." Nikita began with a wicked flick of her wrist that elicited a tragic gasp from Stan, "... did you say Loretta?"

"es nnn th loooor" Stan repeated through tightly clenched teeth.

"Why is he on the floor, Lllloooorrreeetttttaaaa?" she asked patiently.

"Beeechooorse uu...." Stan wheezed.

"Because I what, Loretta?" Nikita prodded.

A deep sob erupted to her left as Reg burst into tears and started rambling incoherently through his tears. "You knocked him over when you opened the door he was sitting on the floor as he was chatting to Stan and I said he looked very nice and we weren't expecting the Spanish Inquisition but then nobody does and I was trying to tell him about my theory..." Reg blubbered on before Nikita cut him off.

"Shut-up! Now!" she roared.

"Ohh she's..." Stan began before Nikita increased the pressure again.

"Don't speak. Don't open your mouth. Don't even breathe unless I tell you you can. Do you understand?" she whispered menacingly.

Stan stared, eye's nearly bulging out of his head.

"Do ...you ... understand?" she repeated, slowly.

Tears formed in Stan's eyes as he nodded in mute silence.

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other. You can breath again, now!" Nikita instructed, a feral grin erupting across her face.

Stan gulped in a lung-full of air, as his eye's stayed fixed to Nikita.

"Michael?" she inquired into the space behind her.

"Oui" Michael responded groggily, trying unsuccessfully to stand up.

"You owe me big time for this Michael" Nikita hissed, "get over here. Now!"

Michael rose shakily to his feet, his legs refusing to take instructions as his brain seized the opportunity to have a little nap. He steadied himself against the wall as the room spun nauseatingly around him.

"Are you okay?" Nikita asked, enthralled by this display and cursing her request to Birkoff to turn off the video feed. "Come over here."

"I'm fine" Michael mumbled as he took a few tentative steps towards her. Reconsidering, he decided 'here' was as a relative concept as he crumbled bonelessly to the floor right there.

"Fine" Nikita agreed with a wicked chuckle as she turned her attention back to the other two. Arms folded across her chest she circled them slowly.

"So, let's get down to business, shall we. Who do you work for?" she finally asked.

"We, ummm ... well, let's see ... " Reg began, glancing nervously at Stan. "We've been working on the eighteenth century social legislation and it's impact on the future of parochial organisation in an...." Reg felt his eye's water before he registered the sudden pressure in his groin.

"Which word didn't you understand?" Nikita asked sweetly.

"Thhheeee ooonnnee innn theee meeeddlllee?" Reg wheezed.

"Okay, we'll start again. Who do you work for?" she whispered.

"Tell her Reg, I can't bare to see you suffer like this" Stan sobbed.

"Yes, tell me Reg, I *hate* to see you suffer too" she crooned, words dripping with sincerity.

"Whhhaarnnnneeerrrr Bbbbbrrrrroooothhhherrrrsss sseeennttt uuuusss" Reg wailed as Nikita's fingers suddenly locked like a vice on his fragile jewels.

"Again" Nikita hissed.

Reg started sobbing incoherently as Nikita released her hold on him and turned her attention to Stan.

"Warner Brothers sent us" Stan started ranting before Nikita's hand reached him. "They wanted to gazump USA on the options and turn the show into a sitcom, sort of a 'Get Smart' meets the 'Man from Uncle' genera and they dispatched us to do a trial run and see who we should dump viz-a-vee who might get a laugh, you've all done very well I might add, and then if we couldn't get the sitcom thing to work they want us to come up with an ending." Stan took a shuddering breath and looked beseechingly towards Nikita.

"I see" she said quietly, standing up and resuming her pacing. "What are you going to report?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"We ... ummmm ... we hadn't really decided" Reg hissed through clenched teeth. "But ummm... the comedy thing..."

"It's ... ergghhh..." Stan added.

"Yeah, okay, okay, don't labour the point" Nikita shrugged impatiently.

"Ummm ... do you ... erghhh ... do *you* have a suggestion?"

"Maybe" Nikita replied as she bent down to examine Michael where he lay sprawled on the floor. She rearranged his limbs, making him more comfortable before leaning down to kiss him tenderly on the lips. "No chance of an Allie McBeal sort of thing- but with spies instead of lawyers? I could lose the attitude and some weight. Michael could get a haircut and a voice."

"Well, interesting idea but ....ummmm...."

"Nikita the Vampire Slayer?" she suggested. "Buffy's slightly older sister?"

"Promising, promising ... but..."

"Enemies? Sort of a anti-universe 'Friends'" she tried again, rapidly losing interest.

"Hmmm... well ... erghhh..."

"Right" she sighed, standing and walking over to them. "Well, we've done the comedy angle and guess that covers the sitcom concept. Just leaves the endings, I guess. What have you come up with?"

"Oh, your gonna love these" Stan replied enthusiastically.

"Well, there's the long slow-pull out, the camera tracks back and back and mixes to black" Reg suggested.

"Uh uh" Nikita replied emphatically.

"It's one of our cheapest" Stan helpfully pointed out.

"Forget it. What else?" Nikita repeated, pulling up her sleeves as she paced in front of them.

"A car chase?" Reg proposed tentatively.

"Nope, been there done that."

"Walking into the sunset?" Stan tried.

"What's that one?" Nikita asked, stopping her pacing for a moment.

"You know" Reg began, "two lone figures silhouetted against the dying rays of a setting sun. The music swells, you've got a lump in your throat and tear in your eye..."

"Ahh ... no, I don't think so" Nikita mused as she continued her pacing. "What else?"

"Well, there's the one that ties up how you got into Section and who your father is..." Stan suggested.

Nikita screwed up her face in thought for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Nah, I don't really want to know. More?"

"How about a happy ending? You know, everyone standing around laughing as cheetah does a backflip?" Reg explained.

"Nope."

"No that wouldn't work, would it. Ummm... What about a panel?" Stan tried. "That's cheap. Some experts sitting around summing up the highs and lows of the show? You know, it was quite a good show blah blah blah, Nikita sure kicked ass blah blah, that Michael character was bit overdone blah blah blah, I don't agree with that blah blah..."

"Not a chance" Nikita interrupted. "Anything else?"

"Ummm... Reg?" Stan asked hopefully.

"Well" Reg considered, "there's always the sudden ending."

Finis

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