Bunny Ears

"Ah — Illya, why are you wearing bunny ears?"

On the monitor screen in Waverly's office, Illya Kuryakin paused at his paperwork and looked up to deliberately confront the lens of the surveillance camera. "I beg your pardon? What are 'bunny ears?'"

"Bunny ears, rabbit ears," Solo shot back over the interoffice sound system, annoyed. "You know: ears that people can wear in their hair."

"Now why would anyone want to wear rabbit ears in one's hair?"

"That's what I'm asking."

In the stark black and white image, Kuryakin's expression remained collected, even serene. "Napoleon, I think you may be delusional. You must be working too hard with Mr. Waverly away. Perhaps you should pay a visit to the infirmary."

Which irritated Solo even more. "Now, c'mon, I know what I'm seeing. And it's damned distracting to watch my partner — you, of all people — trotting around with those silly bunny ears on."

Still sitting at the desk in his office, Kuryakin addressed the camera lens mounted on the wall near the ceiling. "Then perhaps you should stop paying so much attention to the surveillance monitors and get on with your own business so that your subordinates might get on with theirs."

Below the camera, the tiny green light abruptly blinked to an angry red. Kuryakin sighed, took off the ears and handed them to Mark Slate, who was standing beside the desk, just out of camera range.

"Think he got the hint?" Slate chuckled impishly.

Kuryakin nodded. "That should do it. Thank you." He gestured to the ears. "Where did you get those?"

"From April. It was part of her last year's Halloween costume."

"She was the Easter rabbit?"

Slate laughed. "Ummm, no, mate. A different sort of bunny, actually."

Now it was Kuryakin's turn to appear chagrined. "Ah. A pity we don't have more sets of ears."

Slate shrugged, fingering the pink satin lined with faux white fur. "Well, they're fairly easy to find and only cost a dollar or two. All the novelty stores sell them."

"But we're probably talking several hundred dollars to equip the entire staff just to make a point and teach Napoleon a lesson in management."

"Something to contemplate though," said Slate, who always enjoyed a practical joke.

And in fact, at that very moment, one level up in the continental chief's office, Solo was doing exactly that. He hit the intercom buzzer, signaling Lisa Rogers.

"Where's the nearest novelty shop?" he asked her.

A moment went by as she consulted a database. "Thirty-fourth and ninth, about a block from Macy's. Why?"

"Oh, nothing important. I just need to pick up a little present. Thanks."

Snapping the switch, Solo folded his hands and settled back in the large leather chair. Piles of dossiers surrounded him and Channel D would be demanding attention any second, but in this small breather space, he stole some time to consider the myriad of possibilities that a set of bunny ears represented.

For, he was certain, there was more than one way to skin a Russian rabbit.