You know my plight.  This is how I deal.  :)  Usual disclaimers apply.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Best Served Cold
by Jayne Leitch

Marissa was early. Taking her time, she wandered into the kitchen of McGinty's, planning on making herself a quiet cup of coffee before Gary came down--then aborting that plan as she heard Gary come clumping over the stairs. He reached the bottom, and as he made his way across the floor, she made out the low drone of his muttering:

"So-darned-upset-over-such-a-little-thing-you'd-think-she-was-crazy-wouldn't -you-well-maybe-she-*is*-crazy-but-anyway-I've-gotta-stop-her--"

"Gary?" Smiling sweetly as the run-on sentence was cut off, Marissa raised her eyebrows. "Big day with the Paper?"

"You have no idea," Gary answered, still walking. "And I'd love to tell you about it, except I've got to get to Canada. Call Patrick and tell him he's got the run of the bar."

"*Canada*?" Marissa asked incredulously. "Why Canada? And--" even more confused, she finished, "And Patrick doesn't work here anymore, remember? Gary?"

It was too late; he was already gone.

* * * * *

Gary stepped out of the cab in front of a skyscraper in downtown Toronto, almost forgetting to pay the cabbie before hurrying inside. The Paper was like a lead weight in his back pocket; he had to get inside before...

There was no security at the doors. Shaking his head, the handsome American marvelled at Canadians; any similar building in the States would be prepared for an armed insurrection 24 hours a day. Of course, he reflected as he punched the elevator button for the executive suites, if there had been security, there wouldn't be any reason for him to be there--and he knew his presence was important. What did they call this kind of thing? Ah, yes--Convenient Plot Device.

The elevator *dinged* softly, and the doors slid open onto the executive floor. Swallowing nervously, Gary peered around the edge of the door--nothing. But--it sounded like someone was a little further down the hall...

He located the source of the odd noises he was hearing around a corner at the end of the hall. There was a closed door, made of expensive-looking, slickly veneered wood, behind which he could detect muffled thumping and murmuring. He grasped the handle, took a deep breath, opened the door...

And came face to face with a lunatic holding a Nifty Bundler, who promptly screamed.

"Hii-YAA--! Oh, it's you. Sorry; come on in." Casually lowering her Bundler to her side, Jayne stepped aside to allow Gary entrance. "I thought you were someone else. The Director of Programming's supposed to show up soon; can't have him missing out on the fun."

Gary waited for his heart to stop its triphammer pace, then realized it had no plans of doing so. Following Jayne through the door, he saw that the room was a conference facility; about twelve plush roller chairs circled a long, marble-topped table, upon which were five bound and gagged people in business suits. The three men and two women shot him imploring looks from behind their designer spectacles, then cowered back as their captor strode towards them, swinging her Bundler.

"This thing works like a charm," she commented, holding the device up so Gary could see it. "You just press this thing here, and the 'SuperChafe' cord spins out. You direct it with this lever, and tie it off with just a flick of this switch." Suddenly spinning on her heel, Jayne demonstrated the Nifty Bundler's capabilities on a scrawny man wearing imitation Armani who had managed to wriggle out of a loop of his restraints. A mere instant later, he was encased up to his hips. "I told you not to try anything, Ray," she admonished, frowning sternly. "And you thought those Kleiner Cal briefs were abrading..."

"Um, excuse me?" Gary asked weakly, trying to block out the executives' desperate gazes. "Um--what are you doing?"

"You mean you don't know??" Jayne frowned, then reached around the stunned Chicagoan and snatched the Paper out of his pocket. Before Gary could object, she'd unfolded it and began reading the front page. " 'Television Execs Captured'...kind of a small article, don't you think?...'Telluric Television, the Canadian division of NacEast Communications...lone captor...*unsound*'? And I thought journalists had access to the *good* thesauri." With a snort, she turned back to the article. "A name, a name, come on...a-HA!" She paused to grin up at her spellbound audience for a moment, then read aloud, " 'The suspect, Jayne Leitch of Thorndale, Ontario, is currently at large and considered psychotic. In related news: the police are looking into a Nifty Bundler conspiracy...' Oh, well. No such thing as bad publicity, right?"

Gary realized his mouth was hanging open, and shut it with a loud snap. Grabbing the Paper out of Jayne's hands, he gestured towards the tabled executives. "Look, I know you're angry, but is this really the way to get what you want?" he asked as carefully as he could, fearing the wrath of the Bundler.

Jayne gave him a Look. "What are you talking about, Gary? This isn't about getting them to put EE back on the air."

"Oh." Gary thought for a moment, then asked, mystified, "Then what *is* it about?"

In reply, Jayne's eyes glinted with something far more sinister than normal. "It's about *revenge*!" she hissed.

"Oh," Gary said again. "And-and what, exactly, will this revenge entail? If you don't mind my asking," he added hurriedly as the glint got eviller.

"I've already told my guests; I think I'll let them fill you in. Umm..." Surveying her group carefully, Jayne eventually picked a largeish man with a shining bald spot, waving him to the edge of the table with the nozzle of her Bundler. "Tell the man, Bevin," she commanded, taking firm grasp of the duct tape over his mouth and pulling hard.

The executive named Bevin winced as the sticky gray tape took most of his mousy moustache with it, but wisely didn't otherwise admit to any pain. His eyes nervous under his sweat-beaded forehead, he fixed his gaze on Gary and explained, "We--we have all been very, very bad. We have deprived Jayne of her show, and deserve to be punished. As far as we know, our punishment will--"

"Ah-ah." Jayne broke in menacingly, waggling her eyebrows in an unquestionably hostile manner.

Bevin backpeddalled. "Our punishment--which we fully deserve and in fact are begging to have administered--will consist of Dastardly Things in conjunction with rancid marmalade, an eggbeater, Britney Spears cranked to full volume, boiling malt vinegar--and oh yeah, PURE EVIL!!" With that, Bevin subsided into quiet, hysterical giggles.

Jayne raised an eyebrow. "Except for that last bit--which, despite being utterly true, was still a complete improvisation by Bevin and will earn him an extra round with the eggbeater--that's basically it. Oh--plus a special little something for when I've done all the first stuff."

Gary tried not to look too awed. "You've, uh, really thought this out, haven't you?"

"Absolutely." The evil glint in her eyes hardened. "These high-powered executives have taken away my EE. They have to pay for that, and there's no point in doing Dastardly Things to *anybody* if you're gonna be punished for them later. A well-thought-out strategy is of the utmost importance."

"I see." Gary opened his mouth to continue--but at that moment, the soft *ding* of the elevator was heard from down the hall.

Jayne grinned, and hefted her Nifty Bundler. "The last one," she breathed. She positioned herself at the door, motioning for Gary to stand back. He did, his curiosity winning out over his desire to Do the Right Thing, and stop her.

In truth, Gary was beginning to see things Jayne's way. After all, it was *his* show that had been dropped. Really, it should be *him* doling out the punishment, seeing as it was *him* who had been so cruelly insulted by the station's decision...but one look at the malicious glee on the young woman's face made him decide to let her have her fun. At least the Paper had seen fit to send him here to enjoy the spectacle...

The heavy tread of the blissfully unaware executive came ever closer, one expensively-shod foot after the other, until he finally paused on the other side of the door. Gary saw Jayne tense--then she sprang forward as the door opened, her finger squeezing the Bundler's spray button, a primal scream issuing from her throat.

A few confused moments later, and there were now six niftily bundled execs on the table.

Jayne stood back, admiring the image. "It's a work of art, huh Gar?" she commented admiringly.

"Uh--Jayne?" Clearing his throat, Gary gave her a gentle smile, then continued, "I was thinking...if you don't mind...well, it is my show, after all..."

"Oh, Gary." The woman's smile widened, and she tossed her bountiful hair over her shoulder and laughed. "Did you really think I wasn't going to let you help? After all, it's because of you I'm doing all this. And just as Early Edition would be nothing without you, so would any revenge extracted on EE's behalf." She gave him a winning smile, and he felt his heart skip a beat. (What?? It's badfic; I can have him feel whatever the heck I want! :PP)

"Now," Jayne continued, once again all-business, "Could you please take the tape off the rest of their mouths? I want to get started."

Gary obliged, moving from one exec to another and removing the tape from their mouths. The five that had been there when he arrived seemed scared into silence, for they said not a word as he worked. The Director of Programming, however, was positively furious.

"What is the meaning of this?" he blustered, fixing his captors with a defiant glare. "Release us at once! I demand to know just what you think you're doing!"

Gary gave Jayne an enquiring look. "What's his name?"

"Tim Shardstone."

"Thanks." Turning back to the older man, Gary gave him his most pleasant smile and said, "Well, Tim, this lady here's a big fan of a show you just decided not to air anymore. That decision's made her a bit angry, see, so she's gonna torture you."

"Oh, yeah?" The exec's voice lost some of its heat. "And who are you?"

Hardening his smile, Gary answered, "I'm the star of the show. I'm gonna help."

"It's going to be horrible, Tim!" Ray, the exec Jayne had had to bundle twice, looked terrified. "She's going to do all kinds of dreadful things to us! Things with eggbeaters! Boiling vinegar! *Britney Spears*!!!"

Jayne smiled self-deprecatingly as Tim turned horrified eyes on her. "I would've added some brown shag rug into the mix," she commented idly, "but you guys had such bad taste in cancelling EE that I'm not sure it would be torturous *enough*."

"Um--*I* like brown shag rug," a mousy female exec piped up tremulously.

Jayne raised an eyebrow. "And thus my point is proved."

Wadding the duct tape into a ball, Gary turned back to the crazed fan and asked, "So? What do we do first? The Britney Spears? The marmalade? You'll have to explain the eggbeater thing, but I should get the hang of it--"

Jayne laughed, and held up her hands. "Okay, okay. I guess it is time we got this show on the road. And to begin, we will use..." She paused, fixing her captives with a dreadful gaze--then, suddenly, smiling. "None of the above!"

Gary blinked. "Huh?"

"You know Gar, you need to read up on your psychology." Giving him a dazzling smile, she explained, "I just told them I was going to do all that stuff to freak them out. You know, let them imagine their worst possible tortures--many of which were probably *much* worse than anything I could dish out," she added archly. A few of the execs flinched, and didn't make eye contact with each other. "No, what I'm going to do to them will be something entirely different."

"Really?" A little hurt that he wasn't going to find out about the eggbeater, Gary asked, "What?"

Jayne's eyes glinted evilly once more, and she pulled out a walkie-talkie. "Bring 'em in, boys!" she commanded into the unit.

A few moments later, the door swung open to reveal three incredibly buff men, two steering a trolley with a TV and VCR on it, the third carrying a large box. At Gary's look, Jayne said somewhat cryptically, "Buff Slave Boys. I have friends in Toronto."

The three men set up the TV then stood in a cluster, staring expectantly at Jayne. She waved her hand at the door. "Off you go." They left.

"A television?" Gary was baffled. "I don't understand."

"It's very simple." Going over to the box, Jayne opened it and lifted out a handful of tapes. "These are tapes of Early Edition. We're going to watch them all."

* * * * *

Many, many hours later, the execs were laughing at the end of 'Take Me Out To The Ballgame'. "That Chuck!" Tim commented, shaking his head good-naturedly. "He's such a character!"

 "I wish he hadn't left the show," Bevin agreed wistfully. Then he looked expectantly at Jayne. "So? What's next, O Torturer Extraordinaire?"

Jayne, who was sitting comfortably on Gary's lap (badfic, remember!), simply looked back, smiling slightly. "Nothing."

The execs looked puzzled. Ray repeated, "Nothing? Why nothing? There's at least four more episodes."

"There are four more episodes," Jayne acknowledged. "But I don't have them."

"But--" the mousy female exec looked distraught. "But--we don't know anything about Miguel yet! We don't know how Patrick leaves! You can't just leave us hanging like this!"

Suddenly, Gary began to laugh.

Jayne shook her head, and the execs saw her smile grow wider--and nasty. "I know," she commiserated. "It's awful not knowing what's going to happen. But, you see, I don't have the episodes. *They haven't been aired yet.*" Suddenly, she was grinning wickedly. "Don't you just *hate* it when that happens?"

The executives exchanged wide-eyed glances. "Noooo!!!"

And Jayne and Gary laughed and laughed...

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