DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything mentioned in this story. Not a damn thing, you hear?

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

He's been hanging around for four hours.

The whole time he's said maybe five words: "Hi, Hal", "Fine", and "Not much". If you count various noncommital monosyllables as words, he might be up to ten.

He's over on the couch now. He's been there a while, with his feet up, reading an old National Geo. It's got an article on Nome in it which means pictures of snow, rocks, and—yes, dogs. I'm just glad he's got something else to occupy his attention.

I'm not in the mood. I am really not in the mood.

He thinks I'm doing research right now, mainly because I told him so. "Go somewhere else," I said. "I'm doing research." Does he take the hint? No. He takes the couch. I'm not doing research anymore—I'm playing pinball with the sound off—but the second I look distracted or, god forbid, get up for something, I know full well what's going to happen. It happened last time I went for a fresh cup. It happened when I took a bathroom break. From ten feet away I can feel him waiting for his next chance. It's so blatant.

Did I mention I'm not in the mood? I'm not.

Somehow it doesn't seem to have registered with Mr. Vigilance over there. Like I said, the last two times I have moved from this desk—and that's because there have only been two times so far—I have been saved only by my lightning reflexes from taking a header into a strategically positioned cardboard box. One of the bigger ones, too. He keeps a few around. The first time, it was funny—he got this hopeful look, and if I hadn't been working on something I might have said heck with it. But I was, and I got back to it, and by the time I had to get up again I had an eyestrain headache from reading 7-point type and the last thing I wanted to do was…well. Dodge boxes, for one.

So I gave him a look that was probably nastier than I intended, and as far as I can tell he hasn't looked up from that National Geo since. Not that I've checked much, mind you. On the plus side, the box seems to have disappeared. At this rate he's going to get surly and stomp out in approximately the next half-hour, or he's going to decide it's a matter of pride and we're both going to be stuck at our respective posts until somebody either nods off or suffers a psychotic break.

Office politics, Philanthropy-style. I love it.

The sad thing is, the really tragic thing, is that there's an almost-full pot of coffee getting stale in the kitchen right now. I swear I can hear it. He's fast, but he'd have to go get the box again first, and by the time everything quiets down again I'll be back here and we'll be right where we started from—except that I'll have my coffee. If I make it really quick, I think I can pull this off. Right. I'll just pretend he's a Russian sentry or something. On my couch. Guarding my kitchen. Sure, Hal.

But why the heck not? If this is my sim, why can't I have a Russian sentry of my own? No harm in it. Okay—deep breath, push chair back…push harder on chair, which seems to have bumped up against something…

…and smack keyboard with forehead. So that's where the box went. He's fast. He's also quiet. I'd forgotten how quiet.

And he's looking over here, finally, over the top of the National Geo. He's got that hopeful look again. Puppy-dog eyes. Aaagh.

"Had enough pinball?" he asks.

I don't know why I even bother, sometimes.

"All right, all right," I hear myself saying. I don't sound nearly as irritable as I should. "You win."

He doesn't say anything. He just sits there, looking smug. It's all I can do not to roll my eyes—eventually I figure there's no point in not doing it, and roll them anyway. The headache's been gone for a little while now, and I wouldn't put it past him to have figured that out somehow too.

What the heck?

I shrug. Abruptly he looks happier than I've seen him for three days.

"Get in the box, Dave."

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

Not a lemon—hardly even a lime, really. More a grapefruit, I think. Thanks for the goading, Xel. Be proud, if you can. :)