As always, these lovely people — yes, even Dr Smyth — belong to Warner Brothers and Shoot the Moon Productions, not me. I'm just having a little fun with them. Thanks to Clagjanet for inspiring this tale with a comment — and subsequent conversation — about films about buffaloes.

CHAPTER ONE: A FRIENDLY WAGER

"All right, people, it's that time again." William Melrose paused for effect as the agents in front of him shifted uneasily in their chairs. "You all know what's coming up next week, and I expect you to be ultra-prepared this year. The top brass is breathing down my neck on this one." He reached for a stack of documents in front of him, and passed it to Francine Desmond, who took one and passed it to Anne Mortenson beside her. Anne took a copy and handed it to Dave Duffy. "It seems people think our usual calendar of projects needs some sprucing up, so we've gotta come up with a few real gems this time before some fiscal hawk decides to cut our cover budget."

Lee Stetson groaned as the shrinking stack of documents landed in front of him. "Aw, Billy. Not the pitch meeting."

'Yes, Scarecrow. The pitch meeting." Billy gave a fleeting grin, then smoothed his expression into one of managerial efficiency. "I'm expecting some top-notch proposals later this week. Attenborough caliber."

"You're more likely to get Spinal Tap," Lee mumbled.

"With heavy machinery," Francine breathed.

Several people in the room chuckled. Billy frowned.

"We're not filmmakers, Billy," Lee protested. "At least I'm not."

"According to almost everyone outside the front doors of this place, you are. They're choosing five altogether and I want as many as possible to come from Field Section for a change. Scenarios and Cyphers has been lording it over us for five straight years, and I can't say their ideas have been that compelling." Billy's gaze moved to the seat beside Lee, where Amanda King was listening to the exchange with interest. "Amanda, this is your first run at the pitch process, and I have some background info to help get you started. And of course Scarecrow will fill you in."

"Thank you, sir."

Under the table, Lee felt her give his knee a tiny nudge with her own. His frown smoothed itself, as if by magic, though he didn't dare look at her. He had barely dared look at her all morning, since they'd furtively kissed hello in the Q-Bureau before coming down to this interminable department meeting.

"Of course your regular cases take precedence over this, but it still ranks up there in terms of priority. No remakes of Great Tractors of the Midwest," Billy said. "Now get on with it."

Lee tipped his head back against the chair for a moment, sending a silent prayer up through the Georgetown foyer three storeys above, and to the heavens still above that, that some major international incident would take him out of circulation for the week. Beside him, Amanda was already leafing through her copy of the document Billy had distributed.

"You'll find the requirements in there, but here's a few samples for you to look at," Billy told her, handing her an additional folder.

"Thank you," she said, pushing back her chair.

"I'm looking forward to seeing what you come up with," Billy said, then cast a warning glance at Lee. "Both of you." He turned for the door.

Even as their boss stopped out into the hallway, Lee could feel Amanda's enthusiasm for their new assignment building. He braced himself against it a little. Her exuberance was one of his favorite things about her, if he discounted physical characteristics, even though it often got him mired in situations he had no interest in.

Like this one.

"This is going to be fun," she said, tapping the edges of her folders against the table to square them up, then tucking them against her chest. "Come on, let's get started. We've got a ton of work to do."

"Amanda, this pitch meeting thing…" He tried to catch up with her in the hallway, but she was moving fast. On a mission. "It's not a serious assignment."

"Well it's not a security review for a summit of world leaders or anything, but it sounded pretty important to Mr Melrose just now."

Lee huffed out a breath. "He's just doing that to make us show up with something and get Smyth off his back. You know they're just going to make the same two films they make every year."

"They made five last year, actually, and they were all quite different," Amanda told him in the matter-of-fact tone she used whenever she recounted something they'd covered in training.

Lee spied Francine out of the corner of his eye, about to turn into another meeting room. "Francine," he called out, "you tell her. This thing is just busywork, right?"

Francine paused at the door and gave him a curious look, one perfect brow arched in question.

Amanda paused in the hallway. "I have a few good ideas already. I jotted them down as the meeting was finishing." She tore the top page from the yellow legal pad she was holding.

Lee scanned the paper, surprised. He'd thought she was doodling during the last few minutes of the meeting but obviously she hadn't been.

"How did you come up with these so fast?"

Amanda shrugged. "I think about what would make a good documentary sometimes. You know, at red lights, or when I can't sleep. Plus, I don't know, I spent four years on the student paper in college. I got pretty good at spotting a story. I keep them in a notebook in my purse, normally, but I scribbled some of my favorites down here while Mr Melrose was talking." She nodded at the paper. "Why don't you take two and I'll take two and then we can see which ones will work the best."

"Oh, but you can't work together," Francine put in, smiling as if she'd just eaten her favorite piece of chocolate. "It's every agent for themselves, I'm afraid."

"Really?" Amanda's eyes widened in surprise. She turned to Lee, and he saw a gleam starting that he didn't quite recognize. "So it's a competition."

"Well, uh…"

She reached out and took the piece of paper back from him.

"Hey," he protested.

"You were going to let me do all the work, weren't you?" He couldn't tell if she was teasing.

"No, of course not. The rules are right in the document. You'd have seen it as soon as we got upstairs."

"True," she allowed. She looked at the paper in her hand again. "On second thought, you can have these. You've already seen them, and they aren't my best ideas anyway."

"No thanks," he said, gently pressing her hand away. "I'll come up with my own."

"I have no doubt you will," Amanda said, tucking the paper back into her stack of folders.

"Besides, some of us aren't afraid of a little competition every now and then," he said, under his breath. "Not even between… uh… friends."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing, just…"

She raised her chin. 'You think I'm not competitive."

"I didn't say that," Lee began. He heard Francine try to swallow a laugh.

"You think I don't have it in me to beat you."

"I definitely didn't say that," he protested.

"Well, look, I can be as competitive as anyone. Phillip's ball team won the championships two years in a row, you know, and it was in no small part thanks to my coaching."

"I have no doubt in my mind it was due to your coaching," Lee said. "But Amanda, you're taking this much too seriously."

"Is she, though?" Francine put in, unable to keep from laughing now. "It sounds to me like you're running just a wee bit scared."

"What the…" How had this gotten so out of hand so quickly? It was just a stupid pitch meeting, the same dull parade of mediocre ideas they sat through every year. Films no one in their right mind would watch, things so boring they joked about using them as a form of torture. "Francine, you hate this thing."

"Yes, I do, but I must admit this little competition between the two of you holds an appeal I wasn't expecting."

Amanda's mouth curved in a smile. Lee shifted on his feet. He knew he was about to take the bait. He couldn't help himself.

"All right, fine," he said, "just say we do engage in a little friendly wager… what's the prize?"

"You mean besides coming up with a winning pitch? Isn't that supposed to be a prize in itself?" Amanda asked.

"Not if you like competition so much," he said. "We should raise the stakes a little. Make it about something you care about."

"I care about winning the pitch contest," she insisted.

He raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Amanda pressed her lips together. "Maybe Francine should decide."

Francine tapped her pen against her chin, thoughtful. "I think it needs to be winner dependent." She studied the two of them. "If Amanda wins, you, Lee, have to do her paperwork for a month. All of it. Including your own, which we all know she does for you."

Amanda let out a surprised laugh.

"And if Lee wins, you, Amanda, have to finish the first level of firearms training within two weeks."

Lee drew in a quick breath, and he saw that Amanda did, too. Amanda had been putting off the text, partly due to her deep dislike of weaponry, and not even late-night pep talks or romantic bribery had gotten her to commit to a test date.

"Wait," Lee said suddenly. "What if neither one of us wins?"

"Oh, that won't happen," Francine said, smugly. "You know everyone else is going to put in the same level of effort they do every year. Especially if we're guaranteed a front row seat to this. It's definitely down to you two keeners." She pointed at Lee. "Paperwork." And then Amanda. "Firearms. Deal?"

He saw Amanda falter, just a bit, before she squared her shoulders and nodded. "Fine," she said. "It's a deal."

"Yup," he said. "It's a deal." He held out his hand. "Shake?"

Amanda took his hand in hers and gave it a businesslike shake. "Hope your fingers are feeling nimble, Stetson. You're gonna need them for all those reports you'll be typing up."