"Monk, come on, snap out of it," Stottlemeyer ordered the detective a few moments later outside the weight room, "I know you're in there, Monk, so just get back to reality and tell me how Marissa Whitehurst killed Norm Shute."

"Dalg glidj blimlimlim," Adrian told him matter-of-factually.

"In ENGLISH, Monk!"

"DAAAAALLG, GLLIIIDDDDJJ, BLLIIMMLIMMMLIMMM," the detective was starting to look frustrated that no one was picking up what he was saying. Stottlemeyer put both hands over his face and growled in frustration. "This is a nightmare, really it is," he muttered.

"All right, well, you said this happened before," Natalie told him, "How'd you get him back to normal then?"

"Well, he sort of went back on his own free accord," Disher admitted, "Dr. Kroger would be able to tell you more...if we could get a good medium, that is." He leaned close in on the detective. "Maybe if you wrote it down for us, Monk, then we'll get an idea what you're saying."

"Arggee?" Adrian raised an eyebrow, then nodded as he understood and gestured for Natalie to hand him a piece of paper. He wrote down his summation on it and handed it to Disher. "Here we go," the lieutenant held it aloft triumphantly, "She did it with...coff laff emmin zlop, dalg glidj blimlimlim. OK, maybe we need to rethink this."

"Whatever gave you that idea, Lieutenant?" his superior muttered sarcastically. Disher snapped his fingers. "He can mime it," he exclaimed, "Monk, just point out what we need to see; we can pick it up from there."

"Harg chark," Adrian understood this as well. He rushed into the weight room and gestured at a weight machine--the exact one Disher had noticed was set at exact four hundred pounds the other day. "Not so fast, Monk," Disher waved at him, "OK, first syllable, sounds like...weight? Wait, OK...wait for what?"

"Trowl, trowl," Adrian rolled his eyes, "Blimlimlim rog teow gaa regnif stinfp!!"

He made a swiping gesture at the weights. "Second syllable, sounds like...scratch?" the lieutenant guessed, "No, uh, claw? No, rub...swipe?"

"Acker," Adrian flashed him a thumbs up. "Right, got it," Disher clapped his hands triumphantly, "She killed him with a wait-swipe."

"RANDY!!!!" Stottlemeyer bellowed loudly enough to be heard clear to the other side of the pavilion. "All right, enough is enough," the captain hefted a weightlifting bar with its weights removed, "If I have to do this the hard way, so be it."

"Wait a minute, you're not going to do what I think you are, Captain!?" Natalie shot him a disapproving look.

"Natalie, if what you said's true, Marissa Whitehurst's out there right now planning to do something terrible, so whatever gets Monk back to reality, I have to do it," Stottlemeyer raised the bar over his head, "Sorry about this, Monk; it's going to hurt me more than it's going to hurt you."

"Don't!" Natalie's cry of mercy went unheeded as the captain walloped Adrian over the head with the bar. "Ziffer!!" the detective roared, clutching his head. He rounded on his superior with a frustrated glare, "Torbit mar repumst...!!"

He stopped and glanced up at the clock in the weight room. "Zeck, zeck!" he groaned, and abruptly turned and ran out the door and turned left towards the pavilion floor. "Wait, where are you going!?" Natalie cried at him. He did not turn around. Sighing, she ran after him. "Five o'clock," Disher looked at the clock, "Uh oh, competition's starting any minute now. If Mrs. Whitehurst's..."

"Quiet," Stottlemeyer held up his hand. He mimicked Adrian's gestures against the weight machine, then snapped his fingers. "I know what he was saying," he exclaimed, "Lieutenant, get the fingerprint kit out of the car."

Meanwhile Adrian burst through the doors into the pavilion floor. He glanced around in every direction, then rushed towards the stands and scanned up and down the aisles. He noticed Julie sitting by herself in a seat in the third row (next to an empty one her mother had reserved for the competition when they'd first learned Wendy was going to be in it a few months back) and frantically waved for her to come forward. "What, what is it?" she asked when she was in front of him.

"Nomat, eber mot irt yip morc?" he asked her.

"Huh?" she frowned, "Mr. Monk, is this some kind of joke? If it is, I don't get it at..."

"IRT YIP MORC; ZIG FARR NARL!!" he threw up his hands in frustration. Natalie came huffing up at that moment. "Is he back to normal yet?" she asked her daughter.

"Not even in the same universe as normal," Julie shook her head, "What's going on? Why's he...?"

Adrian held up his hand and looked around the pavilion floor again. His eyes narrowed as he set his gaze on the vaulting horse. The Belorussian team was standing at the end of the approach lane, and one of them was getting ready to rush towards it in a final practice run. The detective's eyes widened again. "ZERB, ZERB!!" he cried running as fast as he could towards the girl. He leaped forward and tackled her halfway to the horse. "What are you doing!?" she demanded in broken English.

"Ommi denn rivit mir erren plitz," Adrian told her, "Stim rik." He gestured for her to stay down and ran to the horse. Sure enough, sticking out of the center, in deep enough to be barely noticeable--and certainly not by a gymnast who'd be running towards it at full speed--was a hypodermic needle. Abruptly the sound of a gun cocking behind him rang out. "I hate to do this, Monk, but you forced me to," Mrs. Whitehurst's voice whispered in his ear, "No one else can see this gun, so just turn around, walk away, and tell them you didn't see anything."

"Eppit vronk, trik amin," Adrian shook his head.

"Don't pull that on me!" she hissed, "Now just turn around and...!"

There came another loud roar, and Mrs. Whitehurst was slammed full tilt to the floor. "Get away from him!" Natalie roared. The two women rolled around on the floor, grappling for control of the gun, until Natalie able to knock it away. She slammed both hands down on her former friend's throat. "Just stay down, you sick diseased monster!!" she bellowed.

"Pugjab, letinan," Adrian thanked her.

"What is this about, Mr. Monk!?" Ghazi came huffing up. Adrian gestured for the microphone in his hand. He waved at Natalie for a wipe and rubbed it down before bringing it to his lips. "Orvit lemnap," he addressed the crowd, apparently not noticing their snickering and laughter at his scrambled vocabulary, "Ogna shor, torb sloar homma rish trowl positive proof Marissa Whitehurst here murdered Norm Shute."

"Mr. Monk, you're speaking English again," Natalie gave him a strange look.

"Well of COURSE I'm speaking English, Natalie; haven't you understood a word I've been saying all this time!?" Adrian raised a frustrated eyebrow at her.

"I don't care what language you're speaking, Mr. Monk, you're making a hideous mistake!!" Mrs. Whitehurst bellowed at him, "And furthermore I've had it with you; I'm suing you for fifteen times every cent you have, and you'll...!!"

"Hey SHUT UP!!!" Natalie screamed right in her face, cowing her, "What is that you put in there, a needle?" she noticed it in the horse as well, "I see, you were going to drug everyone else so they'd fall flat when they'd land and make it easier for Wendy to win, weren't you!?"

She fixed Mrs. Whitehurst with a murderous gaze. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, Natalie, and for the record, I'm sueing you into the ground too!" the suspect yelled at her, "You're the real animal here, not me, treating me with complete contempt and...!!"

"Complete contempt? Isn't that exactly how you've treated everyone who's stood in your way so far?" Adrian glared at her. "Ladies and gentlemen," he addressed the crowd, "Marissa Whitehurst here is the real killer of Norm Shute. I suppose you'd like to know how she did it? Well, in a nutshell, she threw her weight around...well, not her weight. When Shute kicked Wendy off the team," he rounded on the suspect again, "you knew you had to ask fast. You went to his office and after making sure he wasn't in--you needed all the time you could get to set your scheme up--you left an anonymous note asking him to meet you in the weight room, maybe fifteen to twenty minutes from the point he'd read it or so. Then you went into action. You raided the back storeroom for the rope to hang him--inventory can confirm it was in fact stolen--but you didn't want to take the chance of Shute seeing you face to face in case something went wrong. So you crawled into the air ducts into the weight room and set up the closest thing to an automated hanging machine you could get--the weight machine we found. You set it at the maximum setting--four hundred pounds, which would pack quite a punch when released--and attached one end of the rope to the weights. Then using the rollers you stole as well, you set up the noose from the ceiling at Shute's height so it would slip right around his neck when he came in. Then all you needed was a triggering mechanism. You attached another piece of rope to the handlebars on the machine, then climbed into the duct and pulled the handlebars back as far as they would go--which, since the machine's right near the duct, was right into the bars, denting them. When Shute came in, you let go of the rope, the weights snapped back down on the machine, and Shute was quickly suffocated by four hundred pounds of pressure around his neck. But he put up just enough of a struggle and was heavy enough to break the noose. He died seconds later anyway, but that shot down your suicide plan--you were going to leave a fake suicide note behind, weren't you?--so you panicked, grabbed all the rope you could get immediately, and ran off through the ducts, little knowing your daughter would be along moments later to take the fall for you."

"Well that's a lovely little story, Monk, but you can't prove it at all!" Mrs. Whitehurst barked at him.

"But we can," Stottlemeyer and Disher came striding across the floor. "Your fingerprints are all over the machine and in the ducts," the captain said (Disher, covered from head to toe in fingerprint chalk, verified the testing had taken place), "So is that your purse over there?" he pointed at one lying haphazardly against the edge of the stands, looking like it had been hastily tossed aside in a frenzy, "Lieutenant, go open it up and see what treasures we can find."

"Not without a warrant you can't!" Mrs. Whitehurst bellowed, but Disher paid no attention as he popped open the purse and slowly withdrew a length of rope with broken ends that had clearly been made into a noose and a piece of paper. "To the cruel world that ruins everything for me, I Norman Shute have hereby decided I can no longer go on living," he read off it.

"That's all I need to know," Stottlemeyer drew his handcuffs, 'Marissa Theresa Whitehurst, you're under arrest for two counts of premeditated murder, two counts of assault and battery, one count of child abuse..."

"Child abuse nothing!" she spat at him, "You have nothing to substantiate that stupid claim! And furthermore, you can't charge me with assault if...!!"

"Oh shut up, Mom, it's over!!" came Wendy's agitated voice from behind them. Her head hung low, she trudged forward. "I knew she and that jerk Lyle were up to something; they were on the phone a lot back in Texas," she admitted to Stottlemeyer, "I didn't hear enough to get suspicious, but they had mentioned stuff like, 'Leveling the field.' I wouldn't be surprised if she got him to attack me and the other girl you said got it last night. And yeah, it was her idea to discredit Shannon to keep her from telling everyone I'd been drinking and driving; she'd told me she'd kick me out if I didn't go along with her on it."

"How...how...how...!!!??" her mother stumbled for words, utterly stunned Wendy would stand up to her. "I see," Stottlemeyer broke into a smile, "And for the record, Wendy, did your mother hit you before last night too?"

"Every..." Wendy choked up in a very uncomfortable manner that Adrian was by now very familiar with; he'd seen Benjy react that way numerous times over the last few years when forced to come to terms with his father's grave misdeeds. "Every time I didn't meet her expectations, she...she did what you saw her do yesterday," the girl admitted softly.

"Well then, Marissa, I guess my child abuse charges do hold up after all," Stottlemeyer told her with a big grin, slapping the handcuffs on her, "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."

"How could you do this!?" Mrs. Whitehurst interrupted, flashing her daughter a look that mixed rage with shock and confusion, "After all I've done for you...!?"

"You think this is easy for me, Mom!?" Wendy all but screamed at her, "I'm breaking up inside to have to do this! But you're out of control, and I have to do it!"

"I thought...I thought you wanted to win...!?" she mumbled softly, looking like she was drifting into another dimension.

"Not the way you do," Wendy shook her head firmly, "I'd rather die than win your way."

Mrs. Whitehurst hung her head sadly, apparently finally realizing the full extent of what she'd brought about. "As I was saying," Stottlemeyer started leading her away, "You have the right to an attorney...."

The crowd broke into applause that the caper had been solved. Wendy, however, slumped to her knees and started sobbing. "Wendy, don't be upset," Natalie put a sympathetic arm around her, "You did the right thing."

"But she's right, I'm alone in the world now!!" she cried, "I just threw away my only friend!"

"She lied to you about that, Wendy; she's not your only friend at all," Adrian found himself smiling as he helped her up, "I think you can count me as one now too."

"Because I got your man for you!?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

"No, because I do appreciate people willing to be honest when they need to," he told her, "Just, just promise me that you'll forgive your mother some time, even if she never does get out of jail; I know from experience holding grudges isn't the way to go. Promise?"

He looked her in the eye. "I'll try," Wendy mumbled softly.

"I think that's a good start," Natalie nodded. "Which also means," she turned to Ghazi, who'd been silently taking in all the preceding events behind them, "That she's reinstated again now, right? We upheld our part of the bargain, didn't we?"

"Indeed you all have," Ghazi nodded, "You are indeed reinstated, Miss Whitehurst. You may rejoin your teammates. And good luck in this competition."

"Thank you sir," Wendy nodded softly.

"Well then, let's go get you ready," Disher, having finally dusted the fingerprint dust off himself, led her over to the American bench, where the rest of the team had been taking in the events before them. "Hi there," the lieutenant greeted everyone, "Think you all should know Wendy's back in, so you don't have to worry about a..."

"Then I quit!" came the angry shout from the back of the pack. Shannon shoved her way through her teammates and stormed towards the bench. "What are you saying!?" one of them asked her, very worried.

"I've told you before, I refuse to be on the same team as that!" Shannon jerked a rough finger at Wendy, "So if she's back in, I quit!"

"You can't just quit on us now!" Katie protested desperately, "We'll still be one team member short; we'll get disqualified if you walk away, Shannon!"

"Then so be it!" she roared, grabbing her belongings and starting to storm to the exits, "Because if you want to give that piece of trash a second chance, then you all deserve to be disqualified!"

"This is utterly gutless of you, Shannon!" another girl whose name Adrian wasn't sure of roared after her in anger, "We stood by you when Wendy tried to slander you, and this is how you repay us!?"

"How I repaid you!?" Shannon spun around and glared back, "You turned on me last night when you and everyone told me I overreacted to her, so for the record YOU all stabbed ME in the back! You know full well it's either her or me, and since you've all clearly chosen her, you can all go to hell!"

"Now wait just a minute...!" Adrian tried to intercede.

"And you, Monk, I'll see you in Hell too for championing her!!!" she snarled at him, "You're a louse, and someday all your loyal fans are going to know it too! And I hope you never do find out who killed your stupid wife! Actually, you know what, I hope whoever killed her kills you too and chops you up into stupid little pieces, because that's what you deserve!!!"

Adrian sputtered in rage and shock as she started storming away. "What in the blazes is going on!?" her father came rushing over.

"Get a cab, Dad; I'm going home!" she commanded him.

"But, but, but the competition's about to start!" he protested, "Don't you want to play for...!?"

"I said NOW; are you deaf, you old dirt bag!!??" she insulted him, then stomped towards the exit, leaving Mr. Walker to frantically rush after her, blubbering. The rest of the gymnasts exchanged worried glances. "Now what do we do!?" another one whose name escaped Adrian asked, clearly scared.

"You're scheduled to go fifth in the round, so you have about five minutes to come up with something, or I'm afraid we'll have to disqualify your team after all," Ghazi pointed out for their benefit.

"We'll never find someone in that amount of time!" the same girl lamented.

"Wait a minute, wait just a minute," Adrian held up his hand. A smile was crossing his face. "Mr. Chairman, would you accept anyone who's even remotely qualified as a replacement?" he asked Ghazi.

"I suppose if that person has some prior experience in gymnastics, yes," the I.O.C. chairman nodded.

"What are you thinking about, Mr. Monk?" Natalie inquired.

"Oh, just something that'll make sure you'll never ask me for money for at least the next year, Natalie," Adrian told her, his smile widening, "How'd you like to be a proud parent?"

"Great job, Julie, great job!" Natalie was in fact incredibly proud as her daughter hopped down from the parallel bars about forty minutes later (she had volunteered to fill in as the team's coach, as no one else was around the fill the position, and had managed to cajole Adrian into joining her, despite his protests it wasn't something he'd be interested in). The detective himself was clapping hard as well, however. While Julie hadn't given the best parallel bar performance of the meet (the German gymnast assigned to it had taken that honor according to what the judges had said), it had been good enough to keep the American team in a dead heat with the Germans, Russians, and Kosovoans going into the final round with the vault. "Quite, quite good," he congratulated her as she returned to the bench, "And thank you for not being the best at the uneven bars, too; you'd've been putting your life in grave danger up there."

"I don't know, maybe I could have done a little better," Julie wasn't completely convinced she'd done well, "Maybe if I'd had more time, if I'd known I'd have been doing this..."

"I don't care if you'd been the worst one out there," Natalie gave her a reassuring hug, "This is one of the happiest moments of my life either way."

"Exactly," Adrian said quickly, "Now please, to make it better, we need to take care of that chalk dust too."

He passed Julie a batch of wipes and turned his gaze back to the vault area. The Germans had first draw, and their chosen contender charged up the lane and landed a fairly good jump that drew fairly large applause. Next came the Russian contender, striding up to the starting point with clear confident swagger. And indeed she had good reason to be, Adrian saw, for her approach, jump, and landing were just about as perfect as could be, generating even louder applause. "That, that looks pretty tough to beat," he remarked, "Um, who's going to be doing it for us?"

He glanced down the bench. At the far end, still apart from her teammates, Wendy slowly raised her hand. "I, I don't know if I can do it, though," she said softly, "I'm too rusty, probably, and I don't know if I was ever as good as she was just now, and..."

"Just do what you can," Natalie tried to encourage her, "If it works, it works, and if not, well, very few..."

Adrian wasn't paying attention. Zlata Tadic was going to try the vault for the Kosovoans. He watched with rapt attention as the young girl nervously approached the starting line, took a deep nervous breath, and ran forward. Unfortunately, her foot clipped the horse as she went over it, causing her to fall flat on her stomach on the other side. "Oh dear," the detective shook his head, moved in no small way by the tears she was starting to shed as medical crews rushed forward to help her up, "So much for her dreams."

"Come on, Mr. Monk, don't say that," Natalie chided him firmly, but he could tell she was disappointed Zlata would not be getting a medal. "OK Wendy, it's all up to you," his assistant told the girl, "Just do your best."

"Just, uh, try and, uh, be the jump, or something inspirational like that," Adrian tried to pitch in with something encouraging of his own. Still looking scared stiff, Wendy slowly trudged to the line. Adrian leaned close to Natalie. "She is right, though, you know; she had too much of a layoff between practice," he whispered in her ear, "She'd going to need to be absolutely perfect to win this."

"Miracles can happen, Mr. Monk," she told him.

"You and your miracles, every single day," he rolled his eyes, "Is there no way you can't be so unbearably positive all the time? It gives people the wrong..."

"Shhhh!!" Natalie hissed at him. A silence fell over the pavilion as Wendy reached her mark. She closed her eyes and took the deepest nervous breaths imaginable for what seemed the longest time. For a moment Adrian was certain she wasn't going to be able to take the pressure and would keel over at any second. Then without warning she ran forward towards the horse and hit the springboard...

...and the detective couldn't believe it at all: her form was incredibly even more perfect than the Russian competitor's had been. When she stuck the landing without the slightest bounce, the pavilion exploded so loudly that Adrian had to cover his ears hard to save his hearing. Still, it was very close. His eyes turned with hundreds of other towards the judges' table as the officials all conferred, then one by one punched in their final scores...

....which were all perfect except for two, more than good enough for the gold. A roar like no other rose up, prompting Adrian to slam his hands over his ears again, but he was smiling from ear to ear as he rose up and watched the other gymnasts jump in excitement on Wendy, all ill feelings apparently forgiven in victory. The detective waited until the noise abated noticeably before walking over to the pile (although he took care to still keep his distance; he knew full well how quickly germs could spread in close quarters. "Pretty, pretty well done!" he shouted over the din to Wendy, "You, you earned it, really."

Wendy's response was to shriek loudly in delight. The malay went on for another minute or so before the girls rose up and rushed for the medal podium. Adrian tried to turn back to his seat, but was instead bear lifted in the air by an equally ecstatic Natalie. "Stop, what are you doing!!?" he demanded in terror.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Monk," Natalie was in the verge of a happy emotional breakdown that quite frankly terrified him, "My baby's a gold medalist thanks to you."

"Yes, yes, and Julie very much earned it, and I am quite proud for her, now please, in the name of all that's sacred, let go of me!" he pleaded.

Natalie happily obliged, much to his relief. "Come on, we can't miss the ceremony," she dug out her camera and half-dragged him towards the podium. Ghazi and several other I.O.C. officials were handing out the bronzes to the third place Germans. The silver winning Russians looked rather sullen they hadn't won, and only grudgingly accepted their medals. Then the carnal cheer rose up again as the gold medals were brought forward. Adrian howled in dismay as he covered his ears yet again, his cry being totally drowned out by the crowd anyway. Still, he removed his hands momentarily to give a strong proud ovation of his own as Ghazi slipped Julie's gold around her neck (only to shut his eyes tightly as Natalie fired off at least a dozen photographs, blinding him with the camera flash. The cheer ramped up louder again, hinting that Wendy was getting her own medal...

...but abruptly the cheers started dying down. Adrian's eyes flew open. Wendy, rather than wearing the gold medal, was holding in her hand, a confused, doubtful look on her face. Her gaze turned to the right. Adrian followed it to see she was staring at the athletes' benches--more specifically, at the Kosovoan bench, on which a familiar figure was hunched over and sobbing. The crowd the went completely silent as Wendy abruptly left the podium, rushed over to Zlata on the bench, and gently pressed the medal into her hands. She started talking to her softly enough so that no one could hear her words, but Adrian read her lips perfectly: You deserve this a lot more than I ever could. Her head hung down, Wendy then walked briskly towards the tunnel, leaving the crowd stunned. Adrian found himself walking forward after her; even with the crowd quieter, he simply had to get out of there anyway. He found Wendy sitting in the hall, slumped on the floor and facing the wall. "I, uh," he fumbled to come up with something to say, "I, um, well,..."

"I know, I'm probably crazy, Monk, I just felt it was something I had to do," she said, not sounding all that convinced, "I just hope it was the right thing."

"Trust me, Wendy, even if it wasn't, it was...well, I think you did good just now," the detective told her.

"Well it's true, I'm no winner and she is," the girl admitted, "She does deserve that medal more than I do. She's a real champion, and I'm a nobody."

"On the contrary, Miss Whitehurst," Ghazi unexpectedly appeared from behind Adrian, smiling strongly himself, "you are very much a winner. Your actions just now are exemplary by any Olympic standards. So do not feel bad at all; you are in fact the biggest champion of these Games."

"You really think so?" she raised an eyebrow, apparently not totally convinced it was all just some mirage.

"Indeed," the I.O.C. president nodded, "And because you've chosen what you have, you will soon find you've won things far more precious than gold. I for one will be happy to use you as an example for future athletes on what they should truly strive for in each Olympiad. So again, I congratulate you deeply. And good luck for any future Games you wish to attend."

He gave her a parting smile as he left. The Teegers filed in behind him. "He's absolutely right, Wendy, you are a real winner to give her your medal like that," Natalie confirmed it for her.

"So I did do well then?" it was finally washing over her that she'd made the right choice.

"It looks like I was wrong; you still are the Wendy I knew," Julie was smiling deeply as she helped her friend up. "And I'm sorry I betrayed your trust," Wendy apologized profusely to her, "None of this would be worth it if you didn't forgive me..."

"Didn't forgive you? After what you've done just now? Are you completely crazy!?" Julie chided her. The two of them shared a warm embrace, all most definitely forgiven. "And to prove it," she continued, "Let's eat out, my treat, if it's OK," she flashed a look at her mother for approval.

"Absolutely," Natalie nodded, "Just call when you're coming back. Oh, and Wendy, don't worry about being alone; you're more than welcome to stay with us until the courts decide who you get to stay with."

"Thanks, Mrs. Teeger," Wendy smiled herself. The girls happily skipped off towards the exit. "I'm glad everything turned out so wonderfully in the end," Natalie sighed, contented.

"Now Natalie, you, you do realize that that same train of thought, that the most valuable thing isn't winning but taking part, doesn't apply to what we're trying to with Trudy, right," Adrian inquired, "We WILL find whoever killed Trudy no matter what and make absolutely sure they're prosecuted or otherwise put out of their misery."

"Oh of course, Mr. Monk," she said, "But come on, loosen up and savor the moment."

"I'm trying to, Natalie, but I can't stop thinking how pointless you forcing me to go undercover as a judge was in the end," he argued, "All I really got out of that was..."

"Charles!" came an all-too-familiar excited cry from up the tunnel. Adrian gulped nervously. "Um, Florianna, nice, nice to see you," he whimpered upon seeing Cadorna scurrying in his direction, "To what do I owe this...?

His question was immediately answered as she threw open her suit to reveal things that Adrian would have preferred to have gone through life without ever seeing. "Take me Charles, take me now you sexy man!" she howled amorously.

Adrian let out a bloodcurdling scream and slapped both hands over his face. "RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!" he shrieked at Natalie, seizing her wrist and dragged her up the tunnel, trying hard to block out Cadorna excitedly crying behind him, "Don't suppress your feelings, Charles! You know you want me! Come to me and give me everything a man like you can deliver! I LOVE YOU, CHARLES KROGER!!!!"

THE END

POSTSCRIPT: Now that we know exactly when the series will end, I can sketch out a final scenario with this series of stories and can tell you that in all likelihood there will be two stories left to be written in it. As it stands now, the next will probably be a final crossover (no point in spoiling who I have in mind yet--which is also contingent on what happens for me this Christmas), likely to be started after Season 7 ends. This will be followed by the final story in the series, probably to be started halfway through the first half of Season 8 or an appreciable time after the completion of Story #11, which will wrap up the continuity you've presumably been following for the last 4 years and send everyone--including a couple of the original characters I've created just for the series--off into the sunset, preferably as close to the canonical show as possible, but if liberties may be taken, I am resigned thereto. I hope you'll stay tuned for all this, because I always aim to please.