A/N: Before wrapping up this story in one marathon chapter, I'd like to say a little bit about my absence from ff.net.

I began posting stories sometime during my freshman year in high school. Even taking five honors courses, freshman year was a joke. That didn't last very long. The stories trickled out and died. From time to time, I still visited the site, but it seemed that my favorite authors, like me, had outgrown or lost interest in the books.

Now here I am, exactly halfway through my senior year. My midterm exams are over, the cheerleading season is nearly so, and if I pass senior year I will begin classes at the University of Pennsylvania next fall. All of this translates into one thing: Lots and lots of free time.

So I came back to ff.net to see what I had missed over two years. And frankly, I was appalled. Bad grammar, poorly written fluff, and remarkably terrible characterization were rampant. I couldn't help myself: I posted The Decline and Fall, a parody highlighting the malady of terrible writing.

The response was immediate and enthusiastic. The higher-minded writing community wasn't gone. It was just hiding. Infused with a fresh energy for fan fiction, I began to churn out all the stories that had been brewing in my imagination behind Peter the Great, Death of a Salesman, the Extreme Value Theorem, the Universal Gravitational Constant, Gilbert and Sullivan's and The Five Basic Ingredients of Great Harvest Bread. So here they are.

It also occurred to me that posting many stories in quick succession is a good way to make sure that my name stays prominent on the page. I hope, however, that the relatively small mature TP fan community (there are quite a few, but Garnet-Scorpion and Alone in the Desert and Ironi Numair come immediately to mind) is on the lookout for me, as I am for them. With each other's support, we can hide behind the door and hit Mary Sue over the head with a frying pan.

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Numair scowled. The dark-haired man calling his name couldn't possibly be past his late twenties. He had been condescended enough lately - by his bosses, by his coworkers, and by Daine's beautiful mother (who didn't see what use her veterinary prodigy had for a physics tutor). Getting lip from strangers was just too much.

You're Salmalin, right? the man said, finally catching up with Numair. The latter sighed and set the tray of late-night coffee down on the empty anchors' desk.

What do you want? he asked, crossing his arms and leaning back to rest his behind on the desk.

That's not the question, the man said, grabbing an anchor's chair and sitting in it backward, straddling the backrest. The question is, what do you want? Numair was about to respond that his desires were his own business when the stranger cut him off. You want to be a reporter. You want to break into the business.

Numair said, because it was true.

That's going to be difficult with plagiarism on your record, isn't it? Numair scowled, but the man continued. Your bosses don't know, and you'd like to keep it that way.

So really, you wish for two things. One: you wish that the reason for your expulsion could be wiped from all records. Two: you want a story that will make your reputation. I work for the Speaker - perhaps you've heard of him. He has a great deal of influence in a variety of areas. With a little effort your indiscretion could be erased, as if it had never existed.

Numair sighed. Tell me what to write.

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The story of President Conte's brief stay in alcohol rehabilitation was certainly an interesting one, thought Numair as he made his way through the last station on the metro line to the Maryland suburbs. But he could think about that later. Daine had a big test this week.

Numair explained for the thousandth time, you have two objects. Then have different masses, and you have to label them as such. Gravity acts more forcefully on the object with greater mass.

What about friction? asked Daine. Wait - there's no friction if you're accelerating, right?

Numair sighed. he said. Why don't we finish this in a little while? I have a very important favor to ask of you.

What kind of favor? asked Daine.

Do you remember the Veterinary Association banquet?

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The name on Alanna's Caller ID looked vaguely familiar. After the second ring, she realized that it was the girl...the girl from the thing...

Miss Sarrasri? What can I do for you? Alanna asked. She vaguely remembered giving the girl her card, mostly out of politeness.

said a male voice, this is Numair Salmalin. I was covering the Veterinary Association thing for CNN. I came over to your table and knocked over Daine's book...

Mr. Salmalin, Alanna growled, I am extremely busy, so if you wouldn't mind confining your reminiscences to your diary -

No! Wait! the young man said frantically. There's something I very much need to tell you. Can I meet with you tomorrow?

Alanna did not want to meet with this Numair Salmalin. Eight-thirty sharp. You have ten minutes. Goodbye.

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Whose camera is that? Numair asked Daine, hanging up the phone. He eyed the object in question, which was resting on top of a pile of mail on the dining room table.

My mother's, responded Daine. She takes pictures for magazines when she's not working on the farm. Daine lived in Maryland with her grandfather while her mother spent most days looking after the Virginia farm.

Since she's away right now, do you think she'd mind if we borrowed it? Numair asked. And, while I'm imposing on you, would you like to come along?

Daine smiled. I'd love to.

Quite a few hours later, Daine and Numair stood in Ms. Sarrasri's darkroom, developing their film. How did you know about...all this? Daine asked, waving her hand in the direction of the pictures hanging on a line to dry.

Call it a hunch, said Numair, aided by an instinct I developed in college from hanging around only the absolute most stylish bars.

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Alanna stared at the photographs, and made a noise that was halfway between a gasp and a laugh. She repeated the reaction several times before the reality of the pictures sunk in.

The Speaker and his secretary? she said, still partially in shock. Who would have guessed? Then, mostly to herself, Jon is a strong supporter of gay rights. But Roger prefers to stand for family values.' I can use this under the headline, Conte Agrees That Equality is a Family Value'...

You won't want to do that, said Numair. Alanna snorted.

Why not? You've given me this wonderful weapon, and you expect me not to use it?

It's not a weapon, said Numair, as much as it is a defense. He briefly explained the story that Alexander Tirragen had asked - ordered - him to write. The blood drained from Alanna's face.

How he found out... she whispered. That little bastard! I'll kill him!

You don't need to kill him, Numair said. You just need to show him the pictures I gave you. Evidence of most - kinky, really - conduct with his special friend would surely ruin the political career of Mr. Family Values.'

Alanna shook her head. You belong in the Washington press, all right, she said. You're a natural.

Numair shook his head. I'm finished here. I'll leave the wheeling and dealing to the politicians, if that's all right.

If that's how you feel... said Alanna regretfully. She would have loved to have Mr. Salmalin working for her. What are you going to do now, then?

Numair checked his watch. I'm going to catch a train to Maryland, he said. I have a lunch date with a young lady who's currently taking a physics test; she's sure to ace it, thanks to yours truly.

That's right, said Alanna, I've read about you in the paper, haven't I? When Numair blushed, she hastily added, You claim to have been falsely accused, though, is that right? When Numair nodded, she looked thoughtful. You know, I knew Annina Tashike at Berkeley, and I believe she owes me a favor...

Numair's eyes widened. You'd do that for me?

Alanna nodded. You saved my skin, and Jon's, and Thayet's. If you had broken that story, you would have your name made in the news, and you'd be cleared of all charges. You don't seem to want the first, but I can provide the second.

Numair was at a loss for words. That...that would be...incredible... I could go back to Princeton, he thought, and see Varice again...

But Daine, he remembered, would be attending veterinary school in Philadelphia. Numair wondered when U. Penn's application deadline was...

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A/N: I think that's the end, though if it doesn't feel to you guys let me know. Please review! I need lots and lots of encouragement and criticism and even flames, just so I know that ff.net is still worth the effort!

Love y'all!