Me too...it started off as a joke, but they kind of work, right? Of course, I really liked Amanda the agent, too, till she bought him that bracelet that looked like a shackle.Which, ew, first because it was not something you buy for someone you respect, and two, because I agree with Turtle(!) that it looked like a handcuff. I know some of the ladies hate anyone that gets in the way of the Subtext(I wonder if the staff notices) but half of the audience, at least, is probably young guys who would not be okay with that(except for the lloyds out there), and a smart showrunner would not chase them Away. And, no, don't hate Sloan either, although I have to admit she doesn't have the chemistry with Connelly that AG has

Ari Gold and his wife sat at their benefit table being bored stiff(Ari chuckled at himself) by a pathologist who swore she'd written a script for "the next Kay Scarpetta" that, if experience taught Ari anything? Was going to be chock-full of unappetizing details to read over sushi,poorly formatted, and as thick as a brick.

The pathologist droned on, not even giving Gold time for his standard "For legal reasons," and "If you get an agent," bullshit.

Ari gave his wife a "Where do you find these people?" look and she gave him a "Don't even think about it!" kick under the table.

"Don't you agree, Mr. Gold?" the pathologist asked, after apparently waiting for his opinion on some unknown subject for some time.

"No, actually, I don't," Gold answered. "I don't agree with anyone unless they have a lot more money than you and they pay me some...I'm sort of a professional asshole. And, even then, I will, on occasion, offer my favored clients some advice based on my years of expertise and they will turn me down, in favor of a script their friend from the sandbox thinks is 'sick'. Can you believe that shit? And then, I will try to get some distance from that and get a tax write-off and pay off some old debts, only to find myself seated next to somebody who thinks she can be an industry player because she watches fuckin' Real Hollywood Story after a long night of cutting up dead people. So, no, whatever you think of me, and my industry, and even my fuckin' haircut, I doubt very seriously I will ever agree with any of it. Ever. Are we clear on that?"

"You have to excuse my husband," Mrs. Ari said."He's in therapy."

"Baby, don't make excuses for me...you know I hate it."

"The sad part is, that was sort of an improvement. And she did kind of overstep her bounds."

"Getting better all the time...that's me."

"I think I should check on the children again. Sara's mature for her age, but she is only twelve, and Jonah can be such a handful at bedtime."

"Look, dear, I love our little man, right? But I think the expression you're looking for is 'pain in the ass'.

"The apple fell far from that tree, didn't it?" Mrs. Ari fished in her purse. "I knew I should have brought my bigger bag...where's my phone?"

"Maybe the cutter stole it. For revenge."

"God, I hope not, because if I did get it back, can you imagine trying to get that out?"

"Look, I'm sure everything's fine. Marta's there..."

'My intuition's bothering me, Ari. Surely you can undertand that, Mr. Gut Instinct?" She looked around on the carpet and under the table. "I must have left it in my coat pocket...you should talk to them anyway...they could spoil the nap of the cashmere."

"There seems to be some kind of bottleneck at coat check, darling." The absence of a coterie of fresh-faced gynecology students following Vince Chase around, combined with the congestion in the cloakroom gave Ari a familar feeling: fear, pride, embarrassment, and envy, all mixed up in a sort of cocktail more potent than anything fundraisers offered. Of course, a few of those young doctors were probably gay(and Mrs. Ari hated it when he brought *his* work home!) he reasoned, trying to talk himself down, although he had noticed Vince's "powers" take a unique turn with dykes as well.Chefs wanted to feed him, bringing special things not on the menu...tough camerawomen explained every detail of complicated shots, and their cheeks turned pink when he thanked them. He would not have believed it if he hadn't seen it himself. At times it was like being an agent to the Fonz, not that he would date himself by risking the reference.

"Now you have manners?" Mrs. Ari asked."Fine, I'll take care of it."

She stalked off toward the cloakroom, just at the moment some culmination took place. "Oh, Vincent!"

"We're going home, Ari!"

"Baby, don't overreact, okay? Now I never thought of myself as a voyeur before, but you've got to admit that was the most entertaining thing that happened (continued...)

( continues...) all night. Baby?"

• **
  

For a while,after Vince went back to California, it was as if life had hit the reset button on Lisa Cuddy's life.Both the memory of the passion and the embarrassment that followed from being a "good girl that likes getting caught" had faded some, although there were still times when it felt more prudent to take the elevator alone, although she was suddenly a very popular lecturer choice for medical students, and she was always well aware of Pacific Time.
She had started fantasizing about the beach as the leaves dropped off the trees in New Jersey and also daydreaming about some more House-free time.

"Hey," a familiar voice said, as if they had just spoken the night before, "I want you to come out for the premiere..."

"I can't do that... I can't take the time off work."

"There's a Women in Endocrinology conference in LA that weekend...E. says it's, um...then she heard Eric's voice say "professional development"

"Who is this?" she joked."I probably shouldn't spend the money..."

"Don't worry, I got it."

"Well, just because I shouldn't, doesn't mean I *can't.* Paying my way is important to me, Vince."

Eric came on again. "I don't suppose you can talk to Turtle while you're here."

"Lisa, okay, that's totally unfair. Because Dr. House owes me two grand from when I kicked his crippled ass, pardon my French, at Xbox."

Considering I've been sick all day, this isn't bad.

In the end, there are two events to celebrate the premiere of Queens Boulevard, the first being a screening for the people of Queens.Lisa may have enjoyed the evening more if she hadn't spent it seated next to Walsh as he provided a running commentary track in her ear. He didn't seem to like her at all, but he was very concerned she might miss a moment of his insight.The audience seemed to really respond to the film, though, cheering and clapping at the end, which, incredibly,seemed to upset Walsh further. "None of you knows a fucking thing." he told them all.

"So, you're the doctor," he said to Cuddy, offhandedly. "Your breasts are too good for you to be a doctor."

You ought to know. You've been staring at my chest instead of my face while rambling about Scorcese for the last two hours.

It reminded her of her one attempt to go on a date with Ari.
She tried to laugh. "Well, I am. You should see my license plate. Oh, and, by the way, my face? Is up here."

"Jesus Christ, *Doctor*, don't get all Gloria Allred on me, okay? I bet you're getting shit for being with my boy Vinnie, huh?"

She sighed. "Yes, some,"

"Well, fuck 'em. If the roles were reversed, and Vinnie were the specialist and you were the starlet? Nobody would be saying *shit*.Which is, like, scary in another way, because as much as I love Vinnie's energy, I think I've seen him counting on his fingers more than a few times. That doesn't fit my conception of health care, even in this imperial waste dump."

"Mine either, Mr. Walsh."

"For fuck's sake, call me Billy. Mr. Walsh is the name borne by the lifesucking wadwaste who happens to be my sperm donor. I can't call him father because he never believed in my talents."

"Ok, Billy, then."

"Great. You're humoring me now. I fucking hate to be fucking humored. Wanna cigarette?"

"No, you know, I'm still a doctor...don't want lung cancer."

"Gotta die of something, doc. Does that shock you?"

"No, not at all, but we hardly know each other and you made this amazing film. Can't that be enough for tonight?"

"Because you and Big Pharma know how we should be feeling, is that it?"

"Honestly, Billy, I wasn't going to say anything, but you have got to be the single most *challenging* person, I've met in my adult life.",

"I'm just fucking with you, sweetheart, and congratulations...I think you're woman enough to date Vince. But the second, and I mean, the very second, you cause him to compromise his creativity, you and I? Will have mad problems."

She tried to smile. "Good one, Billy. You really had me going."

"What am I, the artist clown, now? Some kind of hipster Emmett Kelly or something? Don't take it out on me that you wasted your prettiest years dissecting frogs."

"No, Billy, when I think of you, hip is not the thing to come to mind." She thought she saw Eric give her thumbs up before turning to have one of those intense talks with Vince that reminded her of the articles she's read about twins and their secret languages. Although it's not like it's not English, but sometimes one name or place can set of gales of laughter and nobody bothers to explain why, And here she is, going to LA, the belly of the beast.Maybe the whole town is like that. Full of inside jokes she'll never understand, much less laugh at.

• **
  

She tried, as they all tried at first, she guesses, to stay unconnected, to live with in her own means, and drive a rented Volkwagen, which even Turtle snorted at. "Nice ride,"

"I'm a woman, Turtle. We don't have to be bigger. It's one of the few perks. Well, that and the multiple orgasms..."

"So, when you're with Vince..."

"Lisa, I think I'd be more comfortable if you take the Fifth on that.Also, forget the VW...driving in LA is something of a challenge, and my boy Turtle would be mortally wounded if you thought he wouldn't be up for it."

"Turtle, stop by Ari's (continued...)

( continues...) house before our place."

"House? Cause that type- A motherfucker lives at his office, you know that, Vin."

"Yeah, I know...I need to talk to Mrs. G."

"If you fuck his wife, he'll have your legs broken...he wrote it on my holiday card."

"This is not about sex...more of a mea culpa."

"I'm not in the mood to see anyone now, Vince," Cuddy said. "It's been a long flight and..." Especially not the beautiful and well-dressed Mrs. Gold, who has a way of making her feel like a longshoreman even on days when she hasn't been flying for hours.

"It's okay...that night in the coat closet was my idea...I can take one for the team and apologize."

"So I just sit in the car?"

"Welcome to my world, Lisa." Turtle said. "It's okay...we'll play Death is Not an Option or something."

"Be advised," Vince said. "Turtle is the hardest DINAO player ever...he wouldn't let me get out of fucking Henry Kissinger. Back in a sec.

"Well, if it weren't disgusting, it's not Death Is Not An Option...it's Vince's life."

Vince flipped Turtle off and bounced off to talk to the Gold's housekeeper in his broken Spanish.

Ok, so I added to the last bit, and now I think the new scene I wrote might be a bit...gratuitous(in a sugar-shock way, not a dirty way) But somehow, I could picture it, so, here goes.

In the end, there are two events to celebrate the premiere of Queens Boulevard, the first being a screening for the people of Queens.Lisa may have enjoyed the evening more if she hadn't spent it seated next to Walsh as he provided a running commentary track in her ear. He didn't seem to like her at all, but he was very concerned she might miss a moment of his insight.The audience seemed to really respond to the film, though, cheering and clapping at the end, which, incredibly,seemed to upset Walsh further. "None of you knows a fucking thing." he told them all.

"So, you're the doctor," he said to Cuddy, offhandedly. "Your breasts are too good for you to be a doctor."

You ought to know. You've been staring at my chest instead of my face while rambling about Scorscese for the last two hours. It reminded her of her one attempt to go on a date with Ari.

She tried to laugh. "Well, I am. You should see my license plate. Oh, and, by the way, my face? Is up here."

"Jesus Christ, *Doctor*, don't get all Gloria Allred on me, okay? I bet you're getting shit for being with my boy Vinnie, huh?"

She sighed. "Yes, some,"

"Well, fuck 'em. If the roles were reversed, and Vinnie were the specialist and you were the starlet? Nobody would be saying *shit*.Which is, like, scary in another way, because as much as I love Vinnie's energy, I think I've seen him counting on his fingers more than a few times. That doesn't fit my conception of health care, even in this imperial waste dump."

"Mine either, Mr. Walsh."

"For fuck's sake, call me Billy. Mr. Walsh is the name borne by the lifesucking wadwaste who happens to be my sperm donor. I can't call him father because he never believed in my talents."

"Ok, Billy, then."
"Great. You're humoring me now. I fucking hate to be fucking humored. Wanna cigarette?"

"No, you know, I'm still a doctor...don't want lung cancer."

"Gotta die of something, doc. Does that shock you?"

"No, not at all, but we hardly know each other and you made this amazing film. Can't that be enough for tonight?"

"Because you and Big Pharma know how we should be feeling, is that it?"

"Honestly, Billy, I wasn't going to say anything, but you have got to be the single most *challenging* person, I've met in my adult life."

"I'm just fucking with you, sweetheart, and congratulations...I think you're woman enough to date Vince. But the second, and I mean, the very second, you cause him to compromise his creativity, you and I? Will have mad problems."

She tried to smile. "Good one, Billy. You really had me going."

"What am I, the artist clown, now? Some kind of hipster Emmett Kelly or something? Don't take it out on me that you wasted your prettiest years dissecting frogs.
"

"No, Billy, when I think of you, hip is not the thing to come to mind." She thought she saw Eric give her thumbs up before turning to have one of those intense talks with Vince that remind her of the articles she's read about twins and their secret languages. Although it's not like it's not English, but sometimes one name or place can set of gales of laughter and nobody bothers to explain why, And here she is, going to LA, the belly of the beast.Maybe the whole town is like that. Full of inside jokes she'll never understand, much less laugh at.

• **
  

She tried, as they all tried at first, she guesses, to stay unconnected, to live with in her own means, and drive a rented Volkwagen, which even Turtle snorted at.
"Nice ride,"

"I'm a woman, Turtle. We don't have to be bigger. It's one of the few perks. Well, that and the multiple orgasms..."

"So, when you're with Vince..."

"Lisa, I think I'd be more comfortable if you take the Fifth on that.Also, forget the VW...driving in LA is something of a challenge, and my boy Turtle would be mortally wounded if you thought he wouldn't be up for it."

"Turtle, stop by Ari's house before our place."

"House? (continued...)

( continues...) Cause that type- A motherfucker lives at his office, you know that, Vin."

"Yeah, I know...I need to talk to Mrs. G."

"If you fuck his wife, he'll have your legs broken...he wrote it on my holiday card."

"This is not about sex...more of a mea culpa."

"I'm not in the mood to see anyone now, Vince," Cuddy said. "It's been a long flight and..." Especially not the beautiful and well-dressed Mrs. Gold, who has a way of making her feel like a longshoreman even on days when she hasn't been flying for hours.

"It's okay...that night in the coat closet was my idea...I can take one for the team and apologize."

"So I just sit in the car?"

"Welcome to my world, Lisa." Turtle said. "It's okay...we'll play Death is Not an Option or something."

"Be advised," Vince said. "Turtle is the hardest DINAO player ever...he wouldn't let me get out of fucking Henry Kissinger. Back in a sec."

"Well, if it weren't disgusting, it's not Death Is Not An Option...it's Vince's life."

Vince flipped Turtle off and bounced off to talk to the Gold's housekeeper in his broken Spanish.

"Mrs. Gold," Vince said, feeling awkward suddenly now that he can smell her perfume. "We met briefly at Sarah's bat mitzvah. I'm..."

She cut him off with a practiced hand. "I know who you are...you're the reason my husband hasn't eaten a warm dinner in three years."

He smiled. "Oh, I'm sure I'm only one of a hundred reasons." With most women, that would have killed, but as Ari Gold reminded everyone, he wasn't married to most women.

"No, you're Ari's big discovery. Can I help you? Because I need to check on Sarah...she's home sick with strep."

"That's a killer."

"Mom, I'm thirsty and I think we're out of juice!"

"One second, Sarah. Honestly, our people wandered for forty years in the desert; you're not going to dry out without orange-pineapple juice."

Mrs. Ari looked quizzically at Vince, who was having a rare failure of nerve
. "Fine, I'll just get some water."

"You can get it." Vince said. "I'll wait...strep sucks
Sarah recovered enough strength to hop on the phone with her BFF that gave her strep." Oh my god, Shana! The hottie from "Head-on' is here. And he just said "sucks' and my mom didn't say *anything*. Yeah, I guess he made like a billion dollars for my dad or something...what do you mean, Head on is a stupid movie...I didn't hear you saying that when he had his shirt off in it. He just got done making this other movie in New York, which I'd like, do anything to see but my dad will get all crazy and won't let me...you'd think he'd want me to, like, support what he does, or something. I know!...no, I can't go talk to him...my nose is red and I look kind of gross...no, I'm not scared....no, I'm not. Am not."

Vince walked down the hallway with a glass of water with a lemon in it. "Are too. It's okay, though. The real trick is not to let the fear stop you. And I'd better go take my own advice."

"Hi, Vince...that's your name right?"

"All day, unless it rains. My mother said that; I don't know what it means."

"Old people,"

"I feel you. Only don't let your mother hear you say that." "I'm sorry I'm not wearing lip gloss...when I thought about this in math class, I was totally wearing lip gloss."

'"I never would have noticed," Vince told her. "Don't worry about it. I mean, you're good-looking enough, for someone your age."

Sarah's thank you was just barely audible.

"Keep a good thought for me, okay? I've got to have a serious talk with your mom...any advice?"

"Use good grammar, don't curse, which is funny, you know, cause of my dad...one time, I heard him threaten to cut off some guy's,you know, private part? and give it to the killer whale at Sea World."

"He must have been very upset. Anything else?"

"Um, not that you would do this,but she hates it when me and Jonah, oh I mean Jonah and I, whine."

"You've been very helpful. Feel better fast!"

• **

Aw, bless!

::is slain::

I just - that's adorable. And I completely believe that is how things go Chez Gold. Yes indeed.

Beginning of a ahort Firefly/Sandman sequence:

cliché bingo card #1: “Fusion With Another Fandom”

SEVEN ENDLESS MOMENTS

i

He had a different name, then. It wasn't the name his mother had given him, but she was long gone, and it was the name that the government recognised. His masters. He had been a perfect Operative, and prided himself on that perfection. Lethal, brilliant, persuasive – he was an ideal tool. He could out-think, out-talk, out-maneuver, out-shoot anyone, everyone, and he was utterly devoted. He had lost his faith in other people, had lost his faith in God, but his faith in civilization was unshakable. His faith in this work, in the government, in the future of the human race – that was a flame that burned in the darkness of his heart, that was the reason for every betrayal, every compromise, every ruthless and terrible deed he committed. Because he was building a better universe. They were building a better universe. And if he mortgaged his own soul in the process, and if he slit the throats of good men, shot brave women in the back, left caterwauling babies sobbing in the ruins in the knowledge that they would die of exposure or be eaten by wild dogs – well, he had a dirty, needful job. He was making himself into a sacrifice, doing the unthinkable, being the unforgivable, all to forward the course of human history.

He had forged himself into the perfect weapon, and he thought that was what he would always be until one quiet, terrible day when he betrayed a good man whose trust he had won through months of careful lies, and, afterwards, watched his labours come to glittering, terrible fruition over Serenity Valley – and a question grew within his heart.

“Yes.”

He was circling around the man before the sound had finished forming in the air, gun pointing unerringly into the shadows that hid the stranger's face and his finger poised to deliver death.

“And whence, friend, came you?” His voice was level and deadly, his eyes narrowed as he took in the strange, monastic robes and the heavy volume clutched in the stranger's hands. The chain that dangled from the book.

“Here,” said the tall man, and his voice was dusty as a lost library, dispassionate and inhuman as any computer. “And, yes. You have changed the course of history this day. You have won the war and changed the universe. The Alliance will rule uncontested for decades because of this day's work. Because of you. Without you, the battle of Serenity would have been lost.”

He believed it. It should have felt like victory, like validation. Instead it felt like a bullet to the heart.

“Nothing will change,” he said, suddenly understanding, suddenly feeling something shattering within him.

“Everything changes – and nothing does,” agreed the man with the book. “All you have is your own life, in which to love, and forgive, and betray, and despise. That is all anyone ever has, no matter the colour of their gloves or their coats, or the finery of their City Halls. You have not changed what lies in the hearts of men. That is outside your control.”

He bowed his head, understanding, then, the full weight of the crimes he had committed against his fellows in this lifetime.

“I was wrong,” he said, paralysed by the horror of it, thinking back to the look in the eyes of a man who had believed him a friend. Thinking back to the promise he made his mother before she died. “It is not enough. This is not justice.”

The gun slipped from nerveless fingers, and that was a piece of carelessness he could never have committed before. By some miracle, it did not fire. As it clattered to the ground it took with it his name, his identity, his faith, and his future, and he turned his back on the cowled figure and on the great deeds he had accomplished this bright and dreadful day.

“Yes,” said the stranger behind him, but he was no longer interested in who, or what, the robed figure might be. He was only interested in his own future.

“Book,” he said to himself, turning the word over on his tongue as (continued...)

( continues...) he trod across the dusty ground, hearing explosions and screams still echo in the distance. “I would be something still and quiet, with wisdom in my heart.” And as his commanders celebrated their victory with shouts and cheers and liquor he walked towards a different destiny, where, perhaps, he might learn something of healing, and the secrets of nurturing strawberries and men's souls.

ii

She's a very pretty girl, and he notices that, of course, because he's only human, but he's also a married man, and his Zoe would carve out his heart if he ever gave her cause. So he doesn't. Give her cause. Even though this girl is smiling at him like he's the most charming, amusing, downright adorable thing she's ever seen. Even though he feels like he's known her his whole life.

“Hi there,” he says, feeling kind of dumb, and, actually, she does kind of remind him of his wife, a little. Something about the lovely dark tumble of her hair, and the certainty of her; something about the way she contains both merriment and dignity in her smile.

“Hello, Wash,” she says, dimpling at him, and he feels like he's said something witty after all.

Actually, where the hell are they? And where did she come from? He looks around then, belatedly puzzled, because he's pretty sure they didn't take on any passengers at the last stop. Although – where was the last stop again?

“Sorry, this is going to sound stupid, but I just – have we met?”

She grins. “Just the once, Wash. But it's good to see you again.”

He can feel himself blushing, and he's very conscious again that he's alone with a pretty girl – and it's not like it's his fault, 'cause he's just sitting here doing his job, flying the damn ship, and if the cap'n will go taking on pretty girls and letting them wander freely around the ship then it's no fault of a happily married man if sometimes they might wander into his place of work and start playing with his dinosaurs.

“Raaar!” she says, brandishing one dinosaur at the other with an expression of delight. “'No! No! Don't eat me!' 'But you are made of tasty meat, and I am hungry!' 'Couldn't you try being a vegetarian? I hear that soybeans are delicious!' 'I am a carnivore, and you look pretty delicious to me, pal. Raaar!' 'What if I tell you a story?' 'Then I will sit nicely and listen to your story, and if it is good I will applaud, and if it is bad I will say uncomplimentary things, but either way I will still eat you up.' 'But that isn't fair!' 'That's how the cookie crumbles, buster. I'm hungry, and you didn't run fast enough. Raaar!'”

He watches as one plastic dinosaur cheerfully eats the other one – or at least nuzzles its plastic jaws at the other's plastic throat – and feels like hugging her. And not in a rhythmic, inappropriate-to-a-married-man kind of way. Just – hugging her, like he'd hug a sister, if he had one.

“I'm sorry, but I really don't remember your name,” he confesses, feeling oddly certain that she won't mind.

She looks up at him and grins again, and he knows that he was right. She doesn't mind at all. “We weren't formally introduced,” she says, setting his dinosaurs back down where they belong. “And it was – a while ago. You were a lot smaller then.” She makes it sound like it's a joke that they're sharing, and he can't help smiling back in return, but he's starting to get a real sense of oddness.

“Sorry, I don't – where are we going, again?” He looks at his instruments, feeling embarrassed. He must be getting old. He must have dozed off, which he doesn't do very often, whatever Jayne might say. Just sometimes, looking out over the glittering field of stars, if he's had an unusually, ah, athletic night, he might sometimes rest his eyes a little, by closing them. Occasionally. But he isn't normally as disoriented as this when he awakes. “Were we – Persephone, was it, or...” And that's when the first spike of wrongness hits him. “Reavers!” He jumps out of his chair, adrenaline suddenly surging through his veins. “There were – we – where is (continued...)