"I have the new pages for you, Mr. Bernsen." The young assistant whose name Corbin could never remember said, handing him the pink papers before scurrying off again.

"Yeah…thanks…" Corbin murmured, flipping through them without much interest until he came to the last page, which wasn't pink. It was a piece of college ruled notebook paper with handwritten notes.

"What the hell…" Corbin muttered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned it.

He didn't get through three words, however, before crumpling it up and storming off to find Henry.

He found him at the craft services table.

"Henry!" He growled, thrusting the wrinkled page under his nose. "What the hell is this?"

Henry put down the bagel he was eating and calmly looked at Corbin, apparently not the least bit daunted by the actor's rancor.

"Notes." He replied simply.

"Henry," Corbin sighed. "We've been over this. You don't get to give me notes. You're not a writer or the director."

"Please!" Henry scoffed. "I'm the only one qualified to give you notes! What the hell would writers or directors know about playing me?"

"But these notes don't even make any sense!" Corbin shouted, smoothing the paper out on the table. "Look at this! 'Number 1: Lose the wig. You're not fooling anyone.' I mean, what the hell does that even mean?!"

"That doofy blonde wig you wear in the flashbacks!" Henry shot back, crossing his arms sternly. "You really think people believe you're suddenly twenty years younger just because you slap a dead rat on your head?"

"I like the wig!" Corbin snapped. "It comes across just fine!"

"You look like an idiot." Henry insisted. "Which makes me look like an idiot. And my hair was never that floppy, anyway! Or that blonde!"

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Corbin demanded, also crossing his arms now. "Tell Steve to get a younger actor for the flashback scenes?"

"Yes!…Actually, if you could get that guy from Losthe looks more like me than you do."

"Who?" Corbin grinned cruelly. "Terry O'Quinn?"

Henry was not amused by the quip.

"No, smartass." He growled. "That….Sawyer guy."

"Yeah. Right." Corbin rolled his eyes. "I'm sure Josh Holloway will leave Lost to play you in a two-minute flashback scene every episode."

"Well, it's better than that stupid wig!"

"Forget it, Henry." Corbin grunted, looking down at the notes again.

"'Number 2--" he read aloud. "'Stop hosting lame game shows in your spare time.'"

"That's just common sense." Henry snorted. "You're playing me now, and I don't want my reputation tarnished just because you want to make a few extra bucks! It's bad enough I have to put up with the humiliation of being played by Arnie Becker!"

"Hey!" Corbin argued. "Arnie was a great character!"

"Then let him host the stupid game shows! Good God, I have my dignity to think about! Speaking of which…"

Henry tapped the third bulleted item on the page.

"'Stop wearing ugly shirts.'" Corbin read, then groaned wearily. "Henry, we've been over this. I don't have any control over wardrobe!"

"Well, do something!" Henry growled. "I wouldn't be caught dead in half those hideous things!"

"I'll see what I can do…" Corbin sighed, hoping if he pretended to give in on something Henry would just leave him alone.

"Good." Henry nodded.

Corbin rolled his eyes and moved on to the last item on the list.

"…'And if you ever play me drunk again like in that Scary Sherry episode, I'll kick your…'" he paused, his brow furrowing.

"What's that last letter?" He asked, pointing to the page. "I can't read it."

Henry glanced down at it.

"S."

"Oh."

Corbin cleared his throat.

"…So, no more drunk Henry, then…"

"No." Henry agreed, once again crossing his arms firmly.