Business in London

By Katt and Meesh

Jump to new as of June 19, 1998

Authors' note: Have you ever noticed Jane Austen's convenient device for removing men from the action of the story when they serve no purpose? We call it "Business in London." Darcy's done it, Bingley's done it, Elton, Knightley, even Colonel Brandon's done it. There must be a story behind this phenomenon, we thought, and here it lies.

Prologue

ingley, my friend, I have something of great import to tell you."

Mr. Charles Bingley, with a confused expression on his good-humoured face, looked up at Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. "Oh?"

"Yes."

Bingley waited for a minute for his friend to say something. After a lengthy pause, he began, "Well?"

"Well what?" asked Darcy, confused.

"Are you going to tell me or do I have to sit here and guess?"

"Oh! I'm sorry, I was distracted…" Mr. Darcy began to pace agitatedly around the breakfast room. "Bingley! I have something, I mean, some news… uh, I'm slightly embarrassed about this…"

"Good god, man, have you gone mad? Just tell me!"

"All right…. Oh, blast, not all right!" he cried, and paced with more fury.

Bingley took a sip of cinnamon tea.

"Oh, if you must know," Darcy began again, "Bingley, do you remember last November? And do you remember Jane?"

Bingley said that he did.

"Well…" sighed Darcy ponderously, "I might have kind of… sort of… given the impression, unwittingly you understand!, that Jane was maybe not quite as enamored on you as maybe you had believed…"

Bingley tilted his head inquisitively. "What are you trying to say, old chap?"

"Um, in actuality, as it turns out, I had been later informed that maybe… Jane was… maybe, a little more… um… well, you know…"

Looking up from his teacup, Bingley muttered, "As a matter of fact, I do not know."

Darcy stopped, looked straight at Bingley, and spoke plainly, "Jane was in London all last winter. I was aware of this, and kept it from you." He paused. "And she's in love with you."

Bingley held his teacup in midair. "What?"

"Yes, it's true. I observed her closely yesterday, and while not giving a clear display of affection, she was indeed very…um, affected by your presence. I am truly sorry for my actions and the pain they must have caused the both of you."

Bingley stood up, incensed. "I cannot believe it! Confess now, old friend, you did want Harriet to marry Mr. Elton!"

Darcy stood still for a moment, looking perplexed. He discretely nudged Mr. Bingley in the side and whispered, "Bingley! Bingley! I'm not Emma!"

Bingley looked startled, and then his face fell, ashamed at mistaking his dark-haired friend for a blond-haired lady. Hey, they're both tall!

"Sorry, wrong novel." Presently, Bingley remembered himself and began his tirade again. "Is it possible? I thought you were my friend! I trusted you! I cannot believe that you could have misjudged her so. She was in London all that while, and you never told me of it? What must she think of me? What heartache and anguish this has caused the both of us! And all because of you! What have you to say for yourself?"

Darcy stared at Bingley for a moment, then ceremoniously raised his finger. "I… Business in London!"

All of a sudden, Bingley looked excited. "Business in London!" he exclaimed. Eagerly, he asked, "Can I come, too?"

"No," Darcy explained with condescension, "You have an engagement to keep…er, make!"

With that, Darcy called for his carriage, and was off in a matter of minutes.

It was raining in London as Darcy stepped out of his carriage in front of a large, gray building. He looked up, taking in the weathered stone walls and the thickly plated windows. By the massive oak doors stood a doorman dressed in red and brass buttons, holding an umbrella.

Darcy started towards the door until the doorman held him back. "Sir! Sir! Might I have your card?"

Staring curiously at the boy, Darcy pulled out his calling card and held it before him.

The doorman took one glance at the card, and exclaimed, "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Darcy. I didn't recognize you in this weather."

Holding the door open wide, he ushered Darcy in, saying, "Welcome to Business, sir."

Chapter One

he interior of Business was much different from the weathered gray of the outdoor walls. The gigantic room was surprisingly warm, with beautiful red carpet and ornate chandeliers. A gargantuan marble fireplace hissed and crackled with the cheerful sounds of burning wood. Men of every distinction and rank in society stood in groups, talking, laughing, drinking, and Mr. Darcy was glad to join them.

This was Business, the place where men went when there was nothing for them to do in the story otherwise, or when they felt like getting away. The name Business conjured up a different sort of place than it really was, for the men here did anything but work.

No women visited Business. When Jane Austen needed a man to leave, for any reason, that man simply said, "I have some Business in London," and the women folk left it at that.

So here Mr. Darcy was greeted by many of his Business friends, men who he never saw otherwise, for they were in different stories. Over in the corner was Colonel BigNose, otherwise known as Brandon, conversing with Mr. Willoughby and Mr. Elton. He waved to them, but decided to go talk with Mr. Knightley and Mr. Wickham by the punch table.

"Hullo Darcy!" Mr. Knightley hailed his friend.

"Knightley! Old man, how's Emma?" Darcy responded, glad to be back once again.

"Never better, old sport," Knightley replied, turning cautiously towards the stairway, where Jay Gatsby stood, attired in a pink suit.

Darcy also turned his attention to the stairway, "Do you think Gatsby will mind you using his line?"

"Nah." George waved a hand carelessly, "He won't mind."

Darcy grabbed a cup of punch and noticed the man standing next to Knightley. Every muscle in his body tensed and he turned a cold, steely eye towards the man.

"I am surprised and concerned to find you here, Wickham," Darcy stated coldly.

Wickham seemed confused. "Why?" After a short pause, "Darcy! It's all right! This is Business!"

Darcy immediately relaxed, slapping his friend playfully on the back. "Quite right, Wickham! I'm so sorry! How're you these days? I'm terribly sorry about the lousy part Jane gave you in this story. How's Lydia?"

"Don't ask." Mr. Wickham rolled his eyes heavenward. "It's good that you and I can actually talk now without being mortal enemies. I hate being the villainous monster while you're the noble do-gooder! Makes me sick," he said playfully.

Mr. Elton came and joined the group. Everyone welcomed him, and he and Mr. Knightley exchanged high-fives. "Talk about being sick," said Mr. Elton, "some of my own lines in Emma make me nauseous." He turned to Mr. Knightley. "Next story, you marry the Augusta Elton!" he cried with mock anger.

Mr. John Willoughby approached the table on his way to the door.

"Willoughby! You're not leaving yet are you?" Darcy asked in dismay.

"I'm afraid I must," Willoughby explained, as his eyes darted furtively around the room.

"Whatever for?" Elton asked.

Willoughby turned his eyes to the ground and mumbled, "Uh… I have…business."

"But, Willoughby, we are in Business," Knightley prompted.

Mr. Willoughby looked uncomfortable. "Even so…" he trailed off. He walked quickly to the door.

"Bye, John!" Darcy called after the retreating form. Turning to his friends, he asked, "What's with him?"

"I don't know," Knightley replied. "Maybe he's off to make a rendezvous with young, unsuspecting women named Beth."

Nobody laughed except Mr. Darcy. "I don't get it," he finally admitted.

"What's wrong, Darcy?" inquired Wickham.

"Oh, nothing," sighed Mr. Darcy, "but I'm having Lizzy problems, again. Charles and I went to see her the other day. I tried to talk, really I did, but all I could do was be sullen, silent, and stare out the window. I just can't get away from that window! What's wrong with me?"

Colonel Brandon spoke up. "Perhaps you have rickets and you need the extra sunlight."

"I don't think so, Colonel, but thanks for the suggestion," Darcy replied. "Any other ideas?"

Knightley raised his hand, "Perhaps you should go to Elizabeth and tell her of your feelings."

"I tried that," Darcy said tightly. "Remember?"

"Ohhh…" Knightley winked, realizing his faux pas.

"Maybe I should bring her to Brighton. There's the place to make an appropriate match, eh, Wick?" Darcy elbowed Mr. Wickham.

Before Wickham could think of a suitable reply, a butler came into the room with an express for Mr. Darcy.

"From the Lady, sir," he said, bowing.

"The Lady?" Darcy asked, perplexed. "What could she want with me? How does she know I'm here?"

He tore off the wax seal and began to read. Darcy's countenance grew more and more troubled as he read aloud:

My dear nephew,

How are you? I just wanted to touch base. Bye!

Your loving aunt,

Lady Catherine de Bourgh

P.S. I'm going to take over Business because you want to marry that Elizabeth Bennet. You should marry Anne. Would you defy the claims of honor? Gratitude? The interest of your family and friends? I have been forced into desperate action. I will invade Business at 3:17 p.m. Greenwich Mean Time. And I will hold Business and the Businessmen hostage until you agree to do as you ought. Fare ye well, now.

Upon finishing the missive, Darcy was panicked. He looked around the drawing room of Business and became even more frantic as he realized that he only had fifteen men to defend his refuge against Lady Catherine's forces.

"What will we do? What will we do?" Darcy cried in distress. "We must think of something! Quickly! We must defend ourselves!"

"Calm yourself, Darcy," Knightley tried to comfort his friend. "We'll think of something."

The group concentrated on their problems in silence.

Bing! Bing! went the doorbell.

Darcy looked up in wonder. "That's it!" he exclaimed. "I'll call Bingley!"

Mr. Darcy ran towards the man who had just entered Business and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you! Thank you!" he cried. "You have just saved us!"

The man, dressed in tights and a loose top, looked at him, askance. "Who art thou?"

Darcy did not hear this, as he had gone to the front desk to send an express imploring Bingley to gather Businessmen from all around to come and save their haven.

Knightley, however, looked up and greeted the new man, "Romeo! Did you get exiled from Verona, again?"

"Aye. And I decideth to stoppeth byeth and meeteth my fellow Businessmen," Romeo replied, apparently unaware of the impending battle.

Darcy returned from the front desk triumphant. "Bingley's on his way," he informed his friends. "I guess all we can do know is wait and hope."

Chapter Two

s angry as Bingley was with Darcy, he could not help but feel some self-complacency on the subject of Miss Jane Bennet's regard for him. He sat drinking his cinnamon tea, smiling to himself and counting the hours until he could return to his darling Jane.

It came as some little surprise, therefore, to have his reverie interrupted by the appearance of a breathless messenger bearing tidings from Business. "What is it, Barnes?" he inquired.

"An express from Mr. Darcy, sir," Barnes puffed.

"Whatever can be the matter!" He flew to tear open the seal and read with some alarm the missive, all the while muttering, "Business! Lady Catherine! Under attack?"

Pacing back and forth nervously, he repeated the words: "What am I to do? What am I to do? What am I to do…?"

Barnes looked quizzically at his master. "Things could be worse, sir," he ventured to declare. "Have you thought of cutting off the Lady's transportation or sending a man to stall her armies…?"

Hopelessly, Bingley looked up at his servant. "What can we do, Barnes?" he asked in defeat. "Put a guy at Rosings Park? How will that help?"

Looking down again at the message, Bingley said in sudden surprise, "Oh! Darcy's already told me what to do. I must send for Edward Ferrars! Take down this letter, post-haste!"

"I am not a secretary," Barnes mumbled on his way to find some paper.

Meanwhile, back at Business…

Darcy paced the floor, staring at the map of the Business compound. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was 2:30. "Hurry Bingley, hurry!" he thought.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet walked through the gardens at Longbourn reflecting upon the strange behavior of Lady Catherine de Bourgh throughout her recent visit.

"What could she have meant?" Elizabeth thought, still incensed. "Insulting me like that?"

Her solitary contemplation was intruded upon by the arrival of a very hurried Bingley.

"Lizzy! Lizzy!" he called. "News! *wheeze* From Darcy! *cough* Of the bad sort! *pant*"

"Calm down, Mr. Bingley," Lizzy grinned at his babbling. "Now, speak clearly and tell me what is the matter."

Bingley took a deep breath. "Darcy left me yesterday and proceeded to London, where, as you know, he had some Business…" Bingley proceeded to explain the whole story. When he had finished his tale, Elizabeth looked at him in disbelief.

"A place? Called 'Business?' My dear Bingley, impossible!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"Why, no!" Bingley declared defensively. "Do you think it impossible for Darcy to have gained the good opinion of such a place because he was not so happy as to succeed with you?"

"I'm sorry-I wish Business and Mr. Darcy all imaginable happiness, Bingley," Lizzy still seemed dubious.

"No, no! I need your help!" Bingley cried desperately. "Come! You must gather up as many heroines as you can to help defend Business!"

"Well, who should I call?" Lizzy asked, confozled.

Bingley shrugged, "I dunno. The Ghostbusters?"

"No, no!" Lizzy shook her head and sighed, searching for an alternative. "I suppose I'll just call Emma."

Back at Business, Mr. Knightley approached his friend. "Darcy," he began quietly. "It's 2:45. Are you sure you don't want to try and negotiate?"

"And give Lady Catherine the opportunity to destroy Business?" Darcy asked, incensed. "God forbid it! Bingley will be here! I trust my friend."

Knightley nodded, understanding his loyalty.

Edward Ferrars stood in the doorframe of Barton Cottage, waiting for Elinor to bid good-bye to her mother.

In the distance, he could distinguish the figure of a man on horseback approaching the cottage with great alacrity. He squinted to see if he could make out the man's identity, and he gradually recognized him.

"Barnes!" he cried in surprise as the man dismounted in front of the cottage. "What are you doing here? I hope nothing has gone wrong for Bingley?"

"Oh, I am afraid it has, sir," Barnes handed Mr. Ferrars an express. "This will make everything clear. Good day to you." Barnes tipped the brim of his hat and Edward was left wondering what lay behind his visit.

He eagerly opened the letter and read it with great alarm. Upon finishing it, he called for his horse and yelled to Elinor, "My dear! I have Business in London!" And with that, he was gone.

Mr. Darcy continued to wear a path into the carpet at Business as the seconds ticked by. "3:00," he though. "Just seventeen minutes-Bingley has just seventeen minutes! What is keeping that man?"

Captain Frederick Wentworth lifted his telescope to his eye and stared out across the rising swells of the ocean. Suddenly, a man on horseback appeared in his viewfinder. Dropping the telescope in surprise, Wentworth saw that the man was on the horse and the horse was on a boat being rowed by several men.

"Barnes!" he cried in surprise.

"Yes, sir," the omnipresent Barnes greeted him and he and the horse stepped aboard Wentworth's ship. "An express has come for you from Mr. Bingley."

Taking the offered letter, Wentworth asked, "However did you locate me, Barnes?"

Barnes looked at him icily. "That's official Ferrars-Bingley, Incorporated business, sir."

Wentworth opened the note while saying, "Ah, the FBI, is it? Well then, I shall seek no further."

Barnes nodded and was off again.

Wentworth read the letter and immediately upon finishing, yelled instructions to his crew. "Quick men! We must get to shore!"

The sweat began to break on the back of the Businessmen's' necks as the minute hand on the clock inched closer to two ticks after the three.

"Oh my god!" Elton screamed. "It's 3:07! What is the man thinking? Only ten minutes!"

Henry Tilney sat reading companionably with his wife when his sister walked in, followed by an exhausted man.

"Henry, Barnes is here to see you," Eleanor told him.

Catherine and Henry both looked up in surprise. "Barnes!" Catherine exclaimed. "And how is Mr. Bingley?"

"Not well, I'm afraid," Barnes smiled at her and handed the post to her husband. "But I must away."

Henry fearfully read the express. "Oh, dear!" he exclaimed. "Business is being invaded! I wonder that the Northanger-Business Alarm system didn't warn us earlier!"

"Oh dear," Catherine was concerned. "I must remind the housekeeper to have the NBA checked." Then, "I suppose you must go to defend it?" she asked.

"Yes, I must," he replied.

"Do try and be careful dear," Catherine waved him out the door.

Bingley and his forces gathered in the street directly above Business. From their vantage point, they could see Lady Catherine's army gathering along the streets and sidewalks of London.

"We have less time than I had hoped for," Bingley sighed. "Lady Catherine's forces have almost entirely surrounded the building. Here's the plan… I think we'll have a chance if we cut around the rear of Allan's Booksellers, climb up the tavern's fire escape, walk along the roof of the millinery and drop down in front of the door. I trust no one is afraid of heights?"

Upon hearing the answer in the negative, Bingley nodded and said, "All right, then. Let's get down to Business."

Chapter Three -- a.k.a. Randomness in London...

he rug grew ragged and thin beneath Darcy's restless feet. As he paced, his mind grew more and more agitated. "Bingley, where are you?" he thought desperately.

The rest of the Businessmen tried to keep cheerful faces, but they began to face the possibility that Bingley might not arrive at all. Mr. Knightley stood in the corner muttering, "Badly done, Bingley. Badly done indeed!"

Sitting on the bottom step, Mr. Wickham thought fearfully of the impending battle. "I should've gone to Ramsgate again! They have plenty of fifteen-year-olds there!"

Dancing nervously about the room, Mr. Elton said excitedly, "A battle is a battle…" Then ceremoniously lifting a finger, "But a battle at Business…!"

Frank Churchill looked at him severely, "Oh shut up, Elton!" He then resumed brushing his velvet coat with great anxiety.

Then all fell silent. Darcy paced, Elton danced, Knightley stood, Wickham sat, Frank Churchill brushed.

Darcy sighed, resigning himself. "Well, that's it. It's 3:14. I guess he's not coming after all." His face fell in dejection.

Suddenly a sound, delightful to his ears, rang out. Bing bing!, said the doorbell.

"Could it be?" Wickham gasped.

"Is it he?" Knightley asked eagerly.

Their prayers were answered as Mr. Bingley and his troops marched into the room. He sauntered? Moseyed? Sashayed? (Can you think of a word to go here?) Anyway, he walked stiffly up to Mr. Darcy and saluted. "The FBI reporting for Business, SIR!"

Mr. Darcy wrung Mr. Bingley's hand, "Oh, I am so glad you have come!"

The Businessmen crowded around Darcy and Bingley. Sherlock Holmes shoved Mr. Gardiner out of the way to get a better view, while Julius Caesar slapped Oliver Twist's back in greeting.

Darcy searched through the crowds of men. Turning to Bingley, "Have you not brought my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam?"

"No, indeed! I have not seen him these several weeks," Bingley answered in confusion.

Shrugging, Mr. Darcy looked worried, but simply stated, "Well then, we don't have time to wait for him…"

Mr. Darcy pulled the map of Business from his jacket pocket and spread it on the table in front of him. Using his horsewhip as a pointer, he outlined the battle plan. "Knightley and his men will be stationed at the windows in the uppermost level-here, here, and here-and will assail Lady Catherine's forces. Bingley, you and Mr. Ferrars take squadrons two and three, and cut off their retreat. Captain Wentworth, take your forces and double back around the flank of Catherine's Invading Armies."

Frank Churchill raised his hand. "Yes, Frank?" Darcy asked.

"Are you sure that the CIA won't have an alternate plan and see right through our defensive?"

Darcy grew incensed and spoke in reproach, "Do you mean to say that you think the FBI can't beat the CIA in a fair fight?"

Frank slowly lowered his hand, "Sorry, sir."

"Now-Wickham will bring his men around to this point, where he will hand the offensive off to Mr. Holmes. Sherlock, you must be sure to check their advance," Darcy nodded at each man in turn.

Bingley turned to the detective, "Do you have that?"

"Elementary, my dear Bingley," Holmes nodded.

"Is everyone clear?" Darcy looked around the room.

"But Mr. Darcy, sir," Elton cut in. "What are we to fight with?"

Darcy looked to his left, and then to his right. "Ohh… What does any good Business have in rich supply?" He exultantly held a stapler far above his head. "Office supplies!"

He parceled out staplers, paper clips, pencils, and erasers. "Staple as many as you can to the wall, but be careful with the erasers-we only have five hundred rounds."

As the men filed off to their posts, Darcy called to Bingley, "Do you know what has happened to Georgiana?"

Bingley shrugged, shaking his head.

"I hope she's all right," Darcy's worry etched itself on his face.

Georgiana Darcy stood erectly next to her aunt and cousin Anne as Lady Catherine parceled out orders.

"Now, Georgiana, you and Anne will have very important jobs today," Lady Catherine de Bourgh turned to face the two girls. "We will be counting on you to lead this offensive, once Caroline and Mrs. Elton have broken through the Businessmen's outer defense. A line will open in our forces, leading to the front door. There your troops must be ready for instant action, as soon as you are in view of the doorway. Do you understand?"

"Yes, aunt," Georgiana nodded.

"Anne?" Lady Catherine shifted her gaze to her daughter.

"Yes, mother."

As Lady Catherine walked away, Georgiana and Anne's eyes met in a knowing glance.

Emma Knightley stared out the window of Hartfield in disbelief as she saw a female form hasten its way up the path.

"Lizzy!" she cried in surprise. "What is she doing here?"

Emma made her way outside and reproached Lizzy. "Dear Elizabeth, you know we aren't supposed to see each other yet! You haven't even married Mr. Darcy!"

"Marry Mr. Darcy? Oh, Emma, you are so comical… You ought to perform in the town square," Lizzy's jovial mood left her as she remembered why she had come.

"What is it Lizzy?" Emma asked, fearing for her husband.

"I am afraid Mr. Knightley is in rather a desperate situation," Lizzy began.

Emma's countenance grew troubled as Elizabeth related her story. "Oh, that's terrible!" she was dismayed. "But what are we to do?"

"I don't know, but we need a plan," Lizzy took Emma by the elbow and led her back into the house.

"We can start by sending Barnes for Catherine Tilney-she always has a plan," Lizzy rang for the ever-faithful horseman.

Business was set. The men knew their duties and were poised, erasers in hand, ready to strike.

At exactly 3:17, Lady Catherine's shrill voice cut through the male stronghold.

"Darcy! It is 3:17 and I see that you have not decided to do your duty. I warned you-be prepared to fight."

All was quiet on the western front of the building, when the CIA came into view.

"All fire!" Darcy's voice rang out.

Erasers, staples, and post-it notes began to pour out of the windows of Business.

Chapter Four

ady Catherine's armies advanced against the onslaught with only minor causalities. As the staples cascaded out the windows, thrown by Mr. Knightley's troops, several soldiers were caught in the crossfire. Screams went up into the air. "Help!" they yelled, flailing helplessly. "I've been caught! I've been stapled to the wall!"

Mr. Collins, pompously marching down the boulevard, suddenly found himself.....

"Oh! Here I am!" he cried, looking to his left and right. "I was so worried."

Allow the writers to interrupt Mr. Collins. A tall, thin brown-haired girl startled him by laying a hand on his shoulder. "Collins, dear," she began in a patronizing tone.

"We were not finished with that bit of commentary," finished another girl with fluffy light-brown hair.

Mr. Collins stared, uncomprehending. "Which bit of commentary?"

The first girl continued, "What we meant to say was, 'Mr. Collins, pompously marching down the boulevard, suddenly found himself assailed by small, yellow, sticky papers.'"

"I wasn't pompous," Mr. Collins pouted, as he resumed his former position.

"Katt! Duck! Incoming eraser!" shouted Meesh as she pushed her friend's head down.

RETAKE

Mr. Collins, pompously marching down the boulevard, suddenly found himself assailed by small, yellow, sticky papers. He waved his arms, trying to free himself, but to no avail.

"AAH! They're sticking to me!" He paused to read one of the notes on his left shoulder. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "I'm late for my 3:30 appointment!"

Complacently, he walked back in the opposite direction, with Lady Catherine staring murderously after him.

She turned her attention back to the battle plans she held in her hands, studying them intently. As she stared, trying to trace the route down Barnes Avenue, the plans seemed to disappear before her very eyes.

Looking up, she shielded her face from a flying eraser, and suddenly understood. "Darcy's erasers! They're erasing our plans!"

Quickly, she folded them back up and placed them inside her cloak.

Inside the Business compound, Darcy was underimpressed by his army's lack of progress against the CIA. "We're losing so many men and they're losing so few," he thought hopelessly. "How did she even know where Business was?" Darcy seemed perplexed. "This is all exceedingly vexing…"

Knightley, standing next to him, shrugged and fell. Picking himself up off the floor, he muttered, "Must've been a stealth paper clip that felled me."

Darcy ignored his friend's odd behavior, "Do we have an insider giving out information? A leak? A mole, as it were?"

Special Agent Fox Mulder walked up to the men, pointing at the right side of his chin. "I do have this one on my face, but I fail to see how it could be funneling information to Lady Catherine's forces…"

"No! No!" Darcy exclaimed in frustration. "Who could it be?" he mused to himself.

On the West Side, a unique Story was taking place. Oliver Twist and his forces were desperately fending off Gunnery Unit #4722, led by Caroline Bingley and Lucy Steele. The situation looked desperate.

Oliver Twist ran to the HQ, arriving breathless and carrying an empty eraser box. Lifting the box before Knightley and Darcy, Twist sounded plaintive, "Please, sir, can I have s'more?"

Darcy lifted his hands in defeat, "I'm sorry, Twist. But we just don't have any more."

Oliver turned around in despair, softly muttering under his breath, "I wanna be in America/Everything's free in America/They have erasers in America…"

Darcy watched the boy walk out and slumped over, depressed. "How are we ever going to fend off Lady Catherine's forces if we're so low on supplies! They aren't any erasers left, the paper clips are down to fifty rounds, and the post-it notes are almost down to the cardboard bases. All we have left are a few staples and this bottle of whiteout! What use is white-out?" Darcy asked, running his hand through his hair. "I'm distressed!"

"Psst!" A sound emanated from the window. "Brother!"

Agent Mulder looked up. "Samantha?" he asked eagerly.

"No!" an angry female voice shouted. Suddenly the bottom drawer of the file cabinet flew open and Georgiana Darcy sat up. "I'm over here!"

"Sister!" Darcy exclaimed in surprise.

"Hello Fitzwilliam," she looked up at her brother as she climbed out of the drawer. "Is something the matter? You have distressed hair."

"Nah, just a battle…" he waved his hand carelessly. "Where's Mrs. Annesley?"

"In the fridge downstairs. Want me to go get her?"

Darcy shook his head.

Georgiana handed him a manila file folder, "I understand the battle's going rather poorly. These are Aunt Catherine's secret plans. Anne told me to give them to you."

"Anne de Bourgh?" Darcy asked in surprise.

Georgiana nodded. "Just don't tell Lady Catherine…"

"We just need some time! To study these! Do you think you can get us some time, Georgie?" Darcy asked, eagerly.

"Well, maybe Lady Catherine would agree to a temporary cease-fire," Georgiana suggested.

"Great idea!" Darcy exclaimed and immediately began turning his red flag white with whiteout. After he had finished, he looked at his sister curiously and walked over to the file cabinet. Ruffling through the files, he asked, "Say, is Colonel Fitzwilliam in here?"

Georgiana shook her head. "I haven't seen him… Did you check under 'H' for 'Hot Pants'?"

"Since when are you interested in our cousin's pants?" he asked, looking at her askance. "Nah…he's not here." Darcy closed the drawer and picked up his flag.

He started to wave it out the window, shouting, "Desist! Halt! Cease! I am calling for a temporary armistice of an hour!"

Lady Catherine's voice came back over the megaphone. "Very well, Darcy, you shall have your hour, if you believe it will help your sorry situation." Then, to her troops, "Come gang, let's go get some lunch."

Darcy immediately pulled out the pilfered plans and began to study them. Finding them too incomprehensible for his taste, he handed them over to his commander-in-chief, Colonel Brandon.

Brandon studied them for a moment, and then looked up at Darcy. "We're going to need to run a complete reconnaissance of Catherine's Armed Territories."

"Very well," Darcy turned to a lesser officer. "Tell Wickham we need a complete CATscan."

Chapter Five

itting in the morning room at Hartfield (which is exactly the same size as the one at Maple Grove, our friends tell us…), Emma Knightley, Elizabeth Darcy…er, we mean Bennet, and Catherine Tilney discussed their possible courses of action.

"What can we do?" Emma turned to Mrs. Tilney, desperate.

"The only possible way to defeat Lady Catherine's forces is to bring in a weapon of unequaled proportions that can not fail. Something so big, so strong that grown men will weep in its presence!" Catherine Tilney slammed her foot onto the coffee table, and raised her balled fists into the air triumphantly.

Lizzy and Emma exchanged glances. "Whoa-it's all right, Cat, just simmer down…" Lizzy tried to pacify her friend.

"Well, she does have a point," Emma put in. "We do need a large weapon-perhaps we could employ Hartfield-Bennet Operations? I'll send word to HBO as soon as we have drawn up the plans."

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy eagerly pored over the CIA's battle plans, trying to find a weakness in their defense. "MULDER!" he cried. Then he looked up at his officers, "Oh, sorry," he said, shifting his eyes around nervously. "I mean, its, uh…I, uh, said that because…er, its an…acronym! Yeah!! Its stands for My Under Low-Down Ears…Respond?"

Frank Churchill leaned in towards Darcy. "They do?" he asked eagerly, feeling Darcy's ear lobes.

Darcy took a step back. "Anyway," he began. "I think we could get our forces into this hole in their defense, if only we could find the supplies. Have any ideas, Bingley?"

Bingley looked up at his friend. "Let me tell you about my education," he began. "It was conducted, oddly enough, in Plymouth."

"Plymouth?" Darcy echoed, confused.

"Yes, Plymouth. Do you know it?" Bingley asked.

"Not at all." Then, suddenly comprehending, "Bingley! Bingley!" He nudged his friend. "I'm not Elinor Dashwood and you are not Edward Ferrars!"

"Oh, sorry. Wrong novel," Bingley hung his head in shame.

Edward Ferrars ran into the room, breathless and bearing an express. "Did somebody call me?" he asked between breaths.

Bingley turned around, "Nah…"

"Oh. I have just received news from Pemberley!" he yelled, melodramatically.

Darcy turned around eagerly. "Yes? Yes? What is the matter?" he feared for his home.

Mr. Ferrars hesitated. "I'm afraid we've got PMS, sir."

"You've got WHAT?"

"A Pemberley Management Situation, sir. A rebel band of Lady Catherine's forces have assailed your home," Ferrars continued to explain how the band had tied up Mrs. Reynolds and set up camp in the green room.

Darcy looked up, perplexed. "We don't have a green room," he said softly.

"Well, blue then! The point is Lady Catherine hath got your house!"

"What am I gonna do? I can't manage Business and Pemberley!" Darcy cried. Suddenly, a though struck him and he walked over to file cabinet. Knocking on the bottom drawer, he called out, "Georgiana! Do you think you can manage Lady Catherine's armies at Pemberley?"

"Yes, brother," came the muffled reply. "I'll take the Pemberley Bus Service immediately."

"Okay, then, but you'd better hurry. The PBS leaves in fifteen minutes," Darcy sighed his relief. One problem down-about six thousand left.

Knightley spoke, taking charge. "Split up," he commanded the troops. "And search for whatever supplies you can find. Just remember: be careful, you never know what mutant bugs are lurking around the corner."

Privates and first lieutenants filed out the door in search of supplies. On his way out, Agent Fox Mulder could be heard to mumble, "Geez, I'm feeling so pemberley today."

Darcy looked up, "What? That's my house, its not a word!"

"Sure it is," Agent Mulder pulled out the dictionary. "Here it is, right between 'pelvis' and 'pemmican.' Pember, noun, derived from the Greek root 'pembus,' meaning an excessive amount of pride."

Darcy looked confused for a minute, but then an idea struck him. "So I do fit with Austen's cryptic names! But why don't they call it Pember and Prejudice?" he asked no one in particular.

"Who else has a cryptic name, Darcy?" Knightley asked, astounded.

"Well, you do!" Darcy pointed at his friend. "Knightley-gallant, gentleman-like, etc. And look where you live! Donwell, because, as you know all, he's doin' well! But Wickham on the other hand…"

"What? What about me?" Wickham asked.

"Wickham, wicked…ringing any bells, here?" Darcy explained patiently.

"I think I resent that!" Wickham exclaimed.

"Well, what about you, Darcy? What does your name mean?" Elton inquired.

"Well, let's see…" Darcy began. "I live in Derbyshire…that is Darbyshire and…uh, I see it. I'm seeing Derbyshire, therefore, I'm Darcy. Isn't it obvious? But enough…let's get down to business." Then, as an afterthought, "Metaphorically, that is!"

The officers spread out to search the compound for erasers, paperclips, rubber bands, or anything else that would help their cause.

Darcy searched the bureau, and then the desk drawers, but to no avail. Then he opened the doors to the closet. After pushing back some coat hangers, Mr. Darcy was surprised to find his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, perched atop a box of pen nibs.

"Wow! Pen nibs!" he exclaimed. Then, "Oh, Colonel! What are you doing here?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam stood up and shrugged. "I've been sitting there since the end of 'Donwell Abbey Is Let At Last?' I was afraid that if came out, CK would write another harrowing chapter of 'Fortune Reversed.'"

"Well? Are you going to come out of the closet and help us with the battle?" Darcy seemed impatient.

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked blank. "Battle?"

"Yes! Oh, you've come to help us! I'm so glad you're here!" Darcy said, taking his cousin by the arm.

"Battle?" the Colonel echoed.

As Darcy left his side, the Colonel turned to Bingley for an adequate explanation. Satisfied with Bingley's answer, he sat pensively silent for several minutes.

The troops began to reassemble once again as the clock neared the end of the hour-long armistice. The results of their search were not heartening, but Darcy's spirits were lifted by his cousin's presence.

Not wishing to disappoint his faithful cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam was meditating his own course of action. "Okay," he said resolutely. "All right. I'll do it. I'll just do it."

"Do what?" Darcy asked.

"We've got to save Business," Colonel replied. "I know of only one way."

Darcy gasped. "Fitzwilliam! You wouldn't!"

"I must!" the Colonel turned his face away. "I will hear no argument. It is the only way."

"If you must, Colonel, but I don't recommend it," Darcy finally seemed resigned.

"All right then, here I go…" Colonel Fitzwilliam took a deep breath and walked towards the grand entrance of Business.

Ever so slowly he opened the door, and ceremoniously stepped outside and yelled, "Here I am! Come and get it…"

Chapter Six

Colonel Fitzwilliam cautiously started walking through the throng of Business invaders. The men did not see anything spectacular happening, but one by one the ladies fell silent. A collective feminine sigh arose from their quarter as he approached.

"Is that really him?" whispered Isabella Thorpe to Tybalt Capulet.

Anne de Bourgh followed the Colonel's every move with her eyes. "Oh my god," she panted, "Look at those pants! He is so hot!"

"I can see yet without spectacles and I see no such matter," mocked Signor Benedick.

Anne simply shushed him with her hand.

Picking up the Pace, Colonel Fitzwilliam dipped a tortilla chip in the conveniently placed salsa. Looking quizzically at the bottle, he exclaimed, "Made in New York City?!" Then, he also began to walk faster.

When Caroline Bingley espied her Colonel trying to make a getaway, she screamed out, "Love Bug! Wait for me!" and ran determinedly after him.

Upon hearing this, the Colonel broke into a run. Ladies from all directions sprinted after him, trying to get a glimpse of the Muffin. The cry went up, "Colonel Fitzwilliam!!!"

Back inside Business, the men watched the proceeding, some feeling the Colonel's pain, others (e.g. Wickham) feeling envious. Mr. Darcy cringed as some enthusiastic female called out, "Colonel Vladimir Fitzwilliam! I love you!"

Bingley turned to Darcy and asked, "His name is Vladimir?"

Mr. Darcy shrugged, "I guess so."

"Hey everybody!" cried Mr. Elton, pointing out the window. "Let's hand it to Vlad! He took out half of Lady C's army!"

All the men hurried to the window to see the Colonel leading a band of lusting women away from Business. Everyone cheered.

Turning back, Darcy said to his men, "Let's have a moment of silence for my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam."

All the Businessmen bowed their heads, respecting what an awesome deed the Colonel had just done.

Breaking the silence, Colonel Brandon's nasal voice cut through. "Come on everybody! For he's a jolly good fellow…!"

Wanting to save him the embarrassment of singing, Bingley joined. Soon, the entire Business army was joined in a rousing chorus.

From his vantage point on the top story of a building opposite Business, John Willoughby looked down on Lady Catherine's diminished numbers with panic in his eyes.

He turned around to face the CIA's elite staff. Gathered around the table sat Lucy Ferrars, nee Steele, Augusta Elton, Mr. Elliot, and, of course, Lady Catherine herself.

He tried to seem calm as he spoke, "We have experienced devastating causalities, but we are still in the game. All it would take to destroy their stronghold would be a small band of our toughest fighters. And we still have one last hand to play-remember they still think I'm on their side." He smiled evilly as he began to explain his plan.

Back at Pemberley, Georgiana had a full-blown case of PMS on her hands. Fanny Dashwood, leading a small rebel band, had overcome the staff's defenses. Breaking into the music room, they trashed a harp and Mary Bennet had seized firm control of the pianoforte.

The pictures in the family portrait gallery had been totally defaced. Cyrus Darcy suddenly wore devil horns and a curly mustache; Lady Sarah Fitzwilliam now sported a beard and thick glasses. And as for Mr. Darcy himself, troops were currently at work with pen and ink.

Shantytown was erected in the green room, and there Fanny Dashwood sat with her husband John, awaiting further instructions from Langley, Virginia…er, the CIA headquarters.

Georgiana approached the house stealthily from the west, formulating her plan of action. It was a little risky, but…

Grasping her megaphone firmly, she sneaked towards the house, keeping a look out for any of Lady C's forces. So busy was she in her espionage that she failed to see Mr. Dashwood approaching her.

"Ho, Georgiana!" he hailed her.

She jumped into the air, startled. A sinking feeling stole over her.

John looked at her closely. "Do you bring our orders?" he asked tersely.

"Yes," she nodded her relief. "Yes I do."

And with that, she turned towards the house. She had her plan. She managed to avoid everyone else in her climb up the trellis to Pemberley's roof. Once at the summit, she lifted the megaphone to her lips and proclaimed, "Good morning, Mrs. Dashwood. This tape comes from the hallowed halls of Rosings Park. Your leader, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, has found herself in dire need of your services. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to return to her immediately and await further instructions. You will find her in London. This house will self-destruct in five seconds. Good luck, Mrs. Dashwood."

Georgiana chuckled as members of the CIA streamed screaming out the building. She descended the trellis, and entered the house, quickly locking all the doors. Then, she climbed the stairs to untie Mrs. Reynolds.

A half-hour later, when Georgiana was sure nobody was around, she poked her megaphone out the upstairs window. "Just kidding!" she yelled.

The good spirits of the Businessmen had diminished, realizing that they still had half the army to defeat, and a severely limited number of supplies. Most Businessmen seemed dejected, but Julius Caesar, for some reason, stood proud and tall. "We can't give in now, we're so near the end!"

He walked over to Mr. Bingley who sat with his head in his hands, moaning, "O, what are gonna do? What are we gonna do?"

Shaking Bingley in disgust, Julius turned Orange, enraged. Darcy ran out the door for a blender and some whipped cream. He had a great idea for a new beverage.

Meanwhile, Caesar was yelling at Boingley (a typo, we know, but it was just too good to erase). "Why is everyone so miserable? Et tu, Bingley? Are you dejected too?"

Bingley stood up, incensed. "Yeah, got a problem with that? I'm going to make salad out of you, Caesar!" And with that, Bingley pulled back his fist and landed him a good wallop.

Julius stood still for a minute, then announced softly, "So fall Caesar." *thump*

Darcy ran back in the room, with a line of orange pulp along his upper lip. "Well, Brandon," he addressed his Commanding Officer, "What do we do now?"

"Well, sir, I believe it's time to bring out the heavy artillery."

"You mean the fax machines, and modems?"

"Aye, indeed."

Darcy turned back to his men, imploring them to gather together the large appliances. They knew the situation was dire when Mr. Darcy called for the faxes.

Chapter Seven

Mr. Darcy's men strategically placed their fax machines amidst Lady Catherine's forces. Captain Wentworth looked on with a satisfied expression as he watched John Thorpe accidentally step on a machine and disappear.

Minutes later, in a small country kitchen in Budapest, Lazlo de Almasy was surprised when a strange Englishman was spewed from his fax machine onto the counter. "What?" the man asked in surprise. "Did Lady Catherine call?"

Back outside Business, Lady Catherine's troops were disappearing like lemmings. Three or four men congregated around one fax, which was printing out some kind of announcement.

"Attention CIA!" it read. "Top-Secret strategy meeting for the Internal Rosings Service at the end of the London pier. Come ASAP."

The men took off in all directions, knowing that when the IRS called, it was in their best interest to reply.

When they arrived at the pier, they saw a sign in the distance, "IRS Meeting Here!" Running at top speed toward the end of the dock, they failed to notice when the ground fell out from under their feet.

"Hey! There's no meeting here!" Tom Buchanan exclaimed. *Splash!*

As he descended into the icy waters, Tom passed another floating body. "Hey," he shouted. "Are you looking for the IRS, too?"

The other man nodded, and they swam off together in search of Lady Catherine.

In the uppermost floor of Business, Mr. Darcy was pleased with the CIA's casualties at the unmerciful cords of the fax machines, but knew that the Businessmen still had a long way to go. Lady Catherine's forces were just too numerous.

Mr. Knightley tapped Darcy on the shoulder, saying, "I generally prefer oregano in my spaghetti sauce."

Mr. Darcy turned around quickly, wondering why Knightley would make such a random comment. "What?" he asked, perplexed.

"I said that I need to send word to Emma, didn't you hear me the first time? She'll be most upset if she doesn't hear from me soon," Mr. Knightley signaled to Mr. Tilney, indicating delirium on Mr. Darcy's part.

Darcy shook his head, trying to clear his senses. Then he motioned towards the barracks, "Go wake Barnes to send any messages."

George Knightley tiptoed into the sleeping quarters of Business, followed by Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham, not wanting to disturb the snoring Barnes. As he reached down to tap Barnes on the shoulder, Mr. Knightley stopped abruptly upon hearing a faint "Neeeiiiggghh!"

Mr. Darcy reached over and pulled the covers back, revealing Barnes, completely unconscious and prostrate on the bed, yet still saddled firmly to his horse. Attired in a night cap and powdering gown, Barnes would have been the picture of peaceful slumber if it weren't for the Arabian quarter horse strapped beneath him.

When the men recovered from their shock, Knightley tapped Barnes on the shoulder, and gently nudged the horse. "Good morning, Barnes," he greeted cheerfully. "Would you mind delivering some messages for us?"

"Not at all, Mr. Knightley, sir," Barnes gave his horse a kick, and the animal stood, bringing Barnes with him into perfect riding position. "Shall I go now, sir?"

"Well, not now. We haven't written the messages yet," Knightley shook his head.

"Well in that case, I'll go get a shower. Call me when you're ready, sir," Barnes atop his horse cantered off in the direction of the showers.

As the gentlemen returned to the war room, the men planned what they would say to their wives.

"Anne will be so relieved," Captain Wentworth reflected.

"Catherine will want to hear all about the mysteries of Business," Henry Tilney added.

"As if there were any," said Knightley. "Emma will want to know if I've found any eligible matches for William Cox."

Darcy, discreetly wiping a tear, whined, "I wanna write a letter, too…"

Colonel Brandon shook his head, "Forget it, Darcy, you're not married!"

"Oh, if he wants to write a letter, let him write a letter," Knightley chastised the man. "But who are you gonna write to, Darcy?"

Grabbing a piece of paper, Darcy looked coldly at Mr. Knightley, "That's none of your Business."

A few minutes later, Barnes returned, both he and his horse looking much cleaner. The gentlemen handed over their letters, and he was off.

Colonel Fitzwilliam had kept running and running away from the ladies after his selfless act outside Business, and now found himself to be in the outskirts of Hyde Park. His stamina running low, he could run no more, and had to stop for air.

"He's stopped!" Caroline Bingley exclaimed. Other ladies from the group cried out, "Gather around! Kiss him 'till he surrenders!"

The Colonel allowed the ladies to draw near, deciding to fight his way out. With a dramatic flourish, he announced enigmatically, "Don't get too close, girls. You forget I'm armed and dangerous." Reaching for his back pocket, he ceremoniously pulled out a pen nib. "Ah ha!" he cried. "What do you think of me now?"

Isabella Thorpe shrugged. "What is that, anyway?"

Looking hurt as he glanced at the object, Vladimir replied softly, "It's a pen nib."

The ladies began to laugh, but Caroline Bingley stealthily approached. The Colonel looked over at her and smiled warmly. "Miss Bingley," he asked gallantly, "Would you mind acting out a bit of Sleeping Beauty for me? Would you pretend that you are the princess, and this," he pointed to the nib, "is the spindle of the spinning wheel?"

"Anything for you, my Muffin," she simpered, looking adoringly in his eyes.

"Thank you," he said lovingly, then brought the nib close to her finger. He gently pricked the tip of the finger with it, and she fell dramatically to the ground, unconscious.

"Gee, that was easier than I thought it would be," remarked Colonel Fitzwilliam as the other ladies approached.

On horseback, Barnes approached Hartfield, where the ladies were gathered on the front lawn.

"Oh, Barnes!" Emma exclaimed. "Do you bring news of our husbands?"

"Yes. I do," Barnes nodded for a short while.

"Are you going to deliver their notes?" Emma asked after a few minutes.

"Ooh!" Barnes reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a bundle of messages. Then, he trotted back down the Hartfield lane.

Emma distributed the letters among the married women, and they eagerly tore into them.

Catherine Tilney read hers with anticipation, hoping that Henry would describe his adventures.

Dear Catherine,

How is Frederic Henry? Wait…wrong Catherine, sorry-I hope you're not dead from childbirth. That Ernest Hemingway…drat him! Anyhoo, we're having a bully time here at Business. Things are looking pretty bad, but we've faxed a few, and Colonel Fitz took care of the rest.

Missing you, warmest regards,

Henry

Catherine looked up with a pleased smile, but suddenly looked confused. "Ernest Hemingway?" she asked, perplexed.

"You know, the guy who said goodbye to all those arms?" Emma prompted her. Catherine simply nodded.

Emma then eagerly dug into her own letter from Mr. Knightley.

Dearest wife,

Stephen Crane. F. Scott Fitzgerald. Charlotte Bronte. Henry James. William Dean Howells. Louisa May Alcott. John Steinbeck. Walt Whitman. Emily Dickinson. Sorry about this, Emma, but I just had to keep up with Tilney.

I just wanted to let you know that I am alive and well, although I do miss you terribly. War is such a cruel thing, but sometimes it is necessary for the greater good. Men have to do what men have to do. I will do my best to return to thee with Godspeed.

Yours,

George Knightley.

"Sometimes he gets so dramatic," Emma muttered to herself. "It's just a little building. What's yours say, Liddy?"

Lydia Wickham read her letter aloud:

Lydia,

Hi. Goodbye.

George.

"Isn't he wonderful?" she cried in a fervor of love. "Hey, Lizzy! Who'd you get a letter from? I thought it was just us married women who received them!"

"I'm not sure…" Elizabeth answered falteringly. "Who's Fwood?"

"Oh, lemme see that," Emma grabbed the letter.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet,

Be not alarmed, Madam, upon receiving this letter. I am all right. And I may only add, God bless you.

Fw. D.

Elizabeth pointed to the signature, saying, "See! See! Fwood!"

"I think that's 'Fitzwilliam Darcy,' dear," Emma shook her head in desperation.

"Ohh!" Lizzy suddenly understood. "Why is he sending me a letter?"

Late in the afternoon, the doorbell of Business rang out, Bing, bing! The men answered it warily, afraid of Lady Catherine's tricks. But they were relieved when they saw that it was only John Willoughby.

Knightley opened the door, as Darcy welcomed him in.

"Willoughby! We're so glad you've come back!" he exclaimed.

Willoughby nodded, and smiled.

Chapter 8

"Wow! Willoughby, where have you been?" Bingley asked, glad to see his friend.

He shifted uncomfortably. "I…uh…it was rather a sudden scheme," Willoughby stuttered.

"What was?" Darcy asked, perplexed.

"It," Willoughby replied forcefully, hoping no one would inquire further.

Darcy nodded and backed away. "I hope you come prepared to help us," he shouted from the corner.

"Sure!" Mr. Willoughby perked up. "Let me see your plans." Colonel Brandon went immediately to fetch them. Let's be funny, someone exclaimed from stage left. 'Cause we're not right now.

FUNNY GROOVE! FUNNY GROOVE! FUNNY GROOVE! FUNNY GROOVE!

The Businessmen let out a collective sigh. "Now that that's over with…" Darcy muttered.

Willoughby followed Brandon out the door. Mr. Bingley moved to pick up Willoughby's travel pack, meaning to hang it up in the closet that Colonel Fitzwilliam had vacated. A large, shiny, silver device fell out with a loud thump. *thump*

Darcy strolled over to pick it up. "Something's not right here," he mused. He examined the instrument closely and discovered that he didn't know what it was. Then he handed it to Mr. Knightley.

George Knightley looked at it. "It's a recording device," he shrugged. He placed the device on a nearby table, wondering why Darcy made such a big deal out of it.

Mr. Darcy sniffed the air curiously. "There's something strange afoot here," he looked around suspiciously. "Could it be that Willoughby's our Secret Asian Man?"

"But, Darcy, he's not Asian," Bingley prompted.

"Duh! That's why it's a secret, doofus," Darcy replied with an annoyed look. "You know, like the song: 'Secret…Asssiiiiaaaannnn Man, Secret…Assssiiiiiaaaan Man, giving you a number and taking 'way your name!'"* he burst into song and dance.

"That's, uh, agent, dear," Bingley said with an air of condescension.

Darcy's eyes grew wide. "Ooohhhh!" he exclaimed. "I knew it all along. But all the same, I smell a rat."

Barnes burst through the hallway at this point on horseback. Carrying a small rodent by the tail, he trotted towards the bathrooms. "Sorry about that, sir. I'll take care of it right now," he bowed as best he could. He disappeared through the bathroom doorway, and the Businessmen soon heard a telltale flush.

Grabbing a can of Lysol, Mr. Darcy exclaimed, "Oh, much better! Thank you, Barnes!"

Willoughby soon reentered the room under the pretense of checking their supplies. "I have reason to fear that we will not have enough weaponry. I will go down to the basement and see what we have in reserves." With that, he walked down the stairs confidently, in search of Business supplies.

Darcy cocked his head. "Maybe I should follow him…" he stealthily crept out of the room.

Emma Knightley, handsome, clever, and armed to the teeth, had lived twenty hours in dreaded anticipation of her husband's predicament. Riding atop the HBO's massive creation—a destructive force that would "make grown men weep in it's presence"—she and the other ladies hoped to finally end the ridiculous battle.

Behind her, a caravan of women followed, including Lizzy Bennet, Catherine Tilney, Anne Wentworth, Lydia Wickham, Lady Kattherine, wife of Prince William, Meesh Wyle, Countess of Carter, and Lady Annie, commonly referred to as the Ice Princess.

"Geez, how long does it take to get to London?" Lady Katt complained.

"It just a very long hop, and extremely long skip, and one hell of a jump," Meesh quipped.

Lady Katt put her hands on her hips. "Okay, so you're funny now?"

"Guys, calm down," interrupted Lady Annie. "Let's just sing a song to pass the time."

"Oh, I know!" squealed the Countess o' Carter. "How about 'Down in the Boombox, down in the boombox, people put me down, 'cause that's the side of town I was born in,'"* she sang melodiously.

"No, weenie. It's not 'boombox,' it's 'doondock.'* Don't you know anything?" Lady Katt criticized. "So now I'm picky?" she shouted to the authors.

The Ice Princess rolled her eyes heavenward. "You're both wrong," she sighed emphatically.

<< The authors would like to say that it is, of course, really 'boondocks,' and that the Ladies Kattherine and Carter need to catch up on the last forty musical years. Thank you. >>

Lizzy turned around and shouted at the girls. "Hey you three! Get ready! We're almost there!"

Lady Kattherine, Lady Carter, and Lady Annie all pulled their handkerchiefs from their pockets, preparing for the weapon that would make men weep.

The troops of Hartfield-Bennet Operations, riding their weapon affectionately nicknamed the Catapult, pulled into a parking space behind the Business compound.

"Don't park on red," the Princess of Wales complained. "It says no loading zone!"

Emma shrugged, pointing at the parking meter. "That's only until three p.m. Anybody got a tuppins?"

Catherine Tilney produced the needed coins and Anne Elliot, ever careful, placed the Club on the wheel. Then the women left their weapon on the street to go find their husbands and other sundry males.

*These lines all come from real songs…most of them American oldies. And the lyrics were all mistaken in this way. :) .AIF sound file

Chapter 8b

Authors' Note: This section is heavily indebted to the movie "Top Secret." It's one of our favorites--if you like "Business," you should watch it! :)

Darcy crawled commando-style on his stomach, moving forward with only the aid of his elbows, hoping to take Willoughby by surprise. Suddenly, the ground tilted downward and he found himself falling down the stairs. "Oww! Owww! Ow!" Well, so much for the surprise attack.

At the bottom of the stairs, he recollected himself and cautiously crawled forward once again. His heart began to beat rapidly as his forearm reached forward and touched something rubber. Something rubber and distinctly resembling a foot. Slowly, his eyes raised in horror as he perceived two menacing boots standing directly in his path. His eyes continued upwards until he saw the tops of the boots and realized in relief that there was nothing more. "Ah," he sighed in relief. "That darn Wickham," he muttered to himself, "Always leaving his shoes in the hallway."

He soon reached the door from which he could distinguish the sounds of riffling papers. Still on his stomach, he reached one arm up to knock on the door. Willoughby soon opened the door, and though he looked left and right, he could discern no one in his view. He was about to close the door again when something on the floor cleared its throat.

"Oh! Darcy!" Willoughby exclaimed, looking down.

Darcy gave a small wave before taking the opportunity to crawl through Willoughby's legs. He made his way to the opposite side of the room and pulled himself up on the table. There he caught sight of a suspicious piece of white paper which Willoughby immediately snatched up before Darcy could see what it was.

"Give that to me!" Darcy commanded.

"No."

"C'mon!"

"No."

"Well, then tell me what it says!" Darcy whined.

"It says, 'My dear Mr. Willoughby, I don't know how I could've wronged you so. Please come to me by moonlight. Yours sincerely, Marianne Brandon,'" Willoughby said smugly.

"No, it doesn't!" Darcy exclaimed in disbelief.

"Maybe not, but either way I'm getting out of here…" Willoughby began to run.

Darcy was hot on his heels and caught him.

The End

Gotcha!

Actually, Darcy dragged Willoughby to the ground and tore the paper from his hands.

Darcy gasped, "A telegram from Lady Catherine! So it is you who is the traitor!"

Willoughby jutted out his bottom lip. "So?" he queried. "But I am not Mel Torme."

Darfy (Another typo…it's almost as good as 'Boingley.') looked confused for a minute. "Well, I know that. But you are the mole." He sniffed the air, "There's that smell again!"

Barnes trotted through on his horse. "Sorry sir!" And with that he was gone.

"Well, what are you going to do about it, eh?" Willoughby challenged.

Darcy looked around the room, not prepared for this response. He grabbed the nearest bottle of whiteout and proceeded to dab at Willoughby's eyebrow with the stuff.

After a long pause, Willoughby asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm whiting you out," was the matter-of-fact reply.

"Well, stop it."

"Make me."

After a few more minutes, Willoughby became frustrated.

"Be careful!" he exclaimed. "I'm a transformer…I'm more than meets the eye."

"Oh, I can fix that!" Darcy replied nonchalantly, and began to spread whiteout on Willoughby's eyelid.

"All right, enough!" Willoughby said, taking a step back. "Put up your dukes!"

"Oooohhh! I get Earl!" Darcy exclaimed.

"Oh, all right," Willoughby reached into his pockets and pulled out a small man. "I'll take York."

Darcy also pulled out his small duke and placed him on the table. The tiny man yawned, "Shall I fight now, sir?"

Darcy inclined his head forward, "Proceed."

As the two dukes fought it out, Willoughby and Darcy sat back, engaging in pleasant conversation.

"So, how are things with Lizzy?" Willoughby asked.

"Oh, they could be better," Darcy demurred. "But, after this is over, I might go back to Longbourn if you know what I mean, eh, Willough?" He nudged his companion in the side, playfully.

They passed over half an hour in this pleasant way, and when conversation grew slack, they glanced over and noticed that the two dukes were playing ping-pong on the table.

"Hey! You two are supposed to be fighting!" Willoughby reprimanded.

"Yeah, well…" the Duke of York's reply was lost as a resounding crash shook of the walls of Business.

"What was that?" Darcy cried.

Together, the two rushed to the front of the building, where they rejoined their fellow Businessmen.

"What was that crash?" Darcy asked George Knightley.

"I don't know," Knightley shrugged as he peered out the window. "It's…it's…it's Emma! Emma, wrong way!" He shouted as he rushed outside.

The other men crowded around the doorway and saw several young women huddled around a weapon of mass destruction.

Mr. Elton discreetly wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, "It's so big. *sniff* So powerful."

Catherine Tilney turned to Elizabeth Bennet triumphantly. "I told you it could make grown men weep," she said proudly.

Meanwhile, Emma Knightley realized her mistake. "About face!" she cried, and the contraption slowly started to turn towards Lady Catherine's forces. "How embarrassing," she muttered. "We were attacking Business!"

Mr. Darcy, from the west side of Business, gave a triumphant laugh. "How could we lose now? This is great! I'm all revved up like a deuce!"

Bingley turned to him in confusion, "I thought the song was 'Wrapped up like a dusch?'"

"No-ooo," Darcy said slowly. "It goes 'Revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night.'"

"But it sounds like, 'Wrapped up like a dusch, another bon-ohhh!*'" Bingley's eyes grew wide as he realized his faux pas.

Then Darcy turned his satisfied countenance back to the HBO's weapon. Things couldn't possibly go wrong now!

*These lines all come from real songs…most of them American oldies. And the lyrics were all mistaken in this way. :)

Chapter 9

The Catapult turned around to face the remains of the CIA forces. Artillery sergeants Lydia Wickham and Louisa Musgrove turned to Catherine Tilney for their orders.

"Fill 'er up, girls," Mrs. Tilney yelled, and the two women poured thousands of colorful kitchen magnets into the bowl of the weapon. "All fire!" she yelled.

The catapult shot forward with alarming speed, and spewed its contents forth in a rainbow of polar strength.

"It's all so beautiful," sniffed Elton from the door of Business. "So beautiful, yet so powerful." He stopped to wipe a tear.

However, the beautiful rainbow of magnets was causing devastating casualties on the other side of the 'pult. As the magnets attached themselves buttons, zippers, and other metallic accessories, the occupants of the army were slowly pulled together, as the northern and southern poles of the magnets joined.

Soon, a large clump of men and women formed in the middle of the street, backing up traffic for miles. The individuals of the clump struggled wildly to break free, but to no avail, the magnets held firm.

"Lizzy! Bring it out!" Emma Knightley called across Barnes Avenue.

The Businessmen leaned forward to see what Elizabeth would produce. "Let me through! Let me through!" Darcy yelled, pawing his way to the front. "I want to see! What's she got?"

Elizabeth Bennet appeared from behind a building. "Bring what out?" she asked, confused. Catching Mr. Darcy's eye, she waved, "Hi Fwood!"

He gave a small wave in return and turned proudly to Knightley.

"Who's Fwood?" Knightley asked, perplexed.

"I have no idea, but 'Fwood' is better than 'Heyyouarrogantjerk!' I'll take it!" Darcy shrugged.

They returned their attention to Emma Knightley, who shouted, "Bring out the secret weapon!"

"Ooohh!" Lizzy's eyes grew wide. "That!" She disappeared for a moment, and then returned wheeling a giant refrigerator, and placed it in front of the west side of Business. "Get out of the way!" she shouted to the other women.

They all stood back as the giant clump of CIA forces immediately began to move towards the fridge, pulled by the magnetic field. The FBI and the HBO all cheered as the clump attached itself firmly to the huge door and held fast. And that's how the west was won.

"We've got 'em boys!" Brandon exclaimed jovially.

The women of HBO ran to meet their husbands, who emerged from Business triumphant.

Henry Tilney swept his wife into his arms, saying, "I'll forgive you if you decide you like Frederic Henry better."

"It was a tough choice," she said sarcastically. "But I just couldn't handle all that vermouth." And with that, she chucked the copy of A Farewell to Arms that she held in her hand.

It landed near Lady Kattherine, who screamed incessantly. "Get it away!!!!"

The Countess of Carter calmly picked the book up and put it under a conveniently placed chair, out of sight. "Is that better?" she asked.

"Much," Lady Katt nodded.

The Ice Princess, Lady Annie, turned her attention back to the situation at hand. "Was Lady Catherine in the clump?" she asked.

Anne Wentworth shrugged, "I didn't see her."

Lady Annie looked about suspiciously. "Something's not right," she said slowly as she peered cautiously through the doorway of Business. She spied a male form slinking towards the entrance, trying not to be noticed. As he moved forward into the light, Lady Annie recognized him as John Willoughby.

Gasping, she exclaimed, "So it is you who is the traitor!"

"Man, if I had a five pence for every time I've heard that today!" he sighed in exasperation.

Lady Annie ran towards him, doing her best karate impression. "Hiiiiiiii-yaaaaahhhhh!" she yelled while flailing her arms wildly.

Willoughby caught her flying limbs. "If we're going to do this," he started in slight annoyance, "Let's at least do it right."

"LET'S GET READY TO RUMBLE!" the Countess of Carter yelled into the microphone inside the Deathmatch stadium. Attired in a black tuxedo, she looked the part of a professional wrestling announcer, although she had never done this before.

"What am I supposed to do now?" she turned to Princess Kattherine in confusion.

"I don't know! What am I supposed to do?" Katt hissed in return, as she draped towels over her arms and straightened her striped referee's shirt. "Why don't you announce the contestants?"

"Good idea!" She turned back to the microphone, "Tonight, for your viewing enjoyment, we have Willoughby in spandex!"

Elizabeth Bennet and Marianne Brandon hooted. "Bring it on!" Elinor Ferrars exclaimed.

"No! But really," Meesh continued, "Tonight we have a stunning match for you folks. In the right corner, we have Amazon Annie, weighing in at—"

"Don't tell them that!" Annie exclaimed from the corner of the ring, where she was warming up with her coach, Emma Knightley.

"And," the Countess went on, ignoring Lady Annie, "In the other corner, we have Willoughby the Weasel, defending himself for the middle-weight title of 'Business Traitor.'"

Hisses went up around the room, and Mr. Darcy hurled a pen nib into the ring. "Take that!" he exclaimed. "That's for my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam!"

Mr. Bingley turned to his friend, quite concerned. "Be careful, Darcy! This may be too hard on your nerves. I always like to watch out for your nerves, they've been my old friend these twenty years at least."

"Bingley," Darcy began in annoyance. "I most certainly am not Mrs. Bennet."

Bingley's eyes fell. "Oh, sorry…" he said softly. "Wrong novel."

"No-ooo, wrong again," Darcy sighed. "Right novel. Wrong character."

In the center ring, Amazon Annie was getting last minute advice from her coach.

"I don't know a lot about wrestling, Annie," Emma was saying, "but I do know a little something about marriage. And if you both come out of here unbruised, the two of you do look rather good together…"

"I'm not listening!" Annie exclaimed, putting her hands over her ears.

Lady Katt gathered the two fighters in the middle of the ring. "Now I want a clean fight," she warned, trying her best to imitate the other referees. "No hitting below the belt." She glanced at Annie, "Or above the belt. Ready? Set? Go!"

Willoughby looked up, "Go where?"

"Oh, I don't know! Just start!" Katt exclaimed in frustration.

The two circled the ring cautiously, looking for weakness in the other's defense. Out of the corner of his eye, Willoughby noticed a pretty, young woman walk past.

From the corner ring, he heard Emma Knightley whisper to Lady Kattherine, "That's Miss Meyers, she has sixty thousand pounds! I wonder who I could match her with…"

Willoughby's eyes opened wide. "Excuse me a minute, Annie," he held up a finger to indicate a pause. "I'll be right back."

He stepped nimbly out of the ring, and placed an arm on the girl's shoulder. "Hello, Miss Money—I mean, Meyers…"

The Countess of Carter looked confused, but stepped into the ring and picked up the microphone. As Willoughby walked out the door with his arm around the mysterious young lady, she shouted, "Willoughby has left the building! Our winner is Lady Annie!"

Cheers went up from all around the stadium, as Lady Annie stood in the middle of the ring, perplexed. "But I didn't do anything," she shrugged.

"Oh, that's the magic of default," Lady Kattherine said.

"Everybody back to Business!" the Countess of Carter exclaimed, gleeful that her friend had defeated Willoughby…well, sort of.

As Lady Catherine de Bourgh crept stealthily along the side of Business, she could hear the joyful shouts of her nephew and other Businessmen from inside.

"I don't hear the voice of Miss Elizabeth Bennet," she whispered. "There's still hope."

Chapter 10

Inside Business, the men could talk of nothing but Willoughby. Everyone had their grievances over his past actions and was suddenly willing to talk about him.

Colonel Brandon was sharing his tale of woe with Mr. Bingley. This tale, the same one he had disclosed to Elinor Ferrars, then Dashwood, scandalized Bingley.

"And the blackguard who left her with no hint of his whereabouts…" Colonel Brandon trailed off.

"Willoughby?" Bingley cried desperately.

"No, Edward Ferrars!" Brandon said sarcastically. "Of course I mean Willoughby!"

Bingley's eyes fell dejectedly, as he whispered, "I always knew he was a bad moon on the rise."

Mr. Darcy gently tapped Bingley's shoulder. "Ah, Bingley? The bathroom's on the left!"

"What?" Bingley asked, confused.

"You said the bathroom's on the right…it's on the left," Darcy answered matter-of-factly.

"No-ooo, I said Willoughby was a 'bad moon on the rise.' You know, like the song?" Bingley faltered.

"I thought the song was 'Bathroom on the Right*,'" Darcy countered.

Bingley simply walked away, shaking his head and deciding not to dignify that with a response.

"Speaking of the bathroom…" Darcy slinked towards the left, remembering how much tea he had drunk.

Not noticing Darcy's absence, Mr. Knightley shouted at the room, "I have just received word from my anonymous source that Willoughby has appeared on Oxford Street with Miss Meyers. C'mon, boys! Let's go get him!"

Businessmen ran towards the door, but Captain Wentworth stopped Mr. Knightley. "Who's your anonymous source?"

"I can't reveal him, he's anonymous…but I will tell you this, his name starts with an 'M' and ends with a 'ulder,'" Knightley whispered covertly.

"McUlder? Macumbulder? Mannulder? MacBethulder? Mameeshulder? Makattulder? I guess I'll never know…" Wentworth shook his head as he walked out the door.

Soon, Business was empty of all life…except for one with his fly open.

Mr. Darcy returned from the bathroom to find himself completely alone.

"Hey! Where'd everybody go?" he asked the file cabinet.

"I don't know," the file cabinet replied.

"Did you just say something?" Darcy asked, surprised.

"I don't know," it replied again. Then as an afterthought, "But Lady Catherine is not in here."

"Well, okay then," Darcy walked towards the window thinking how courteous his furniture was. Then, he suddenly realized something, "Hey! Waaaiiiittt a minute…"

He opened up the bottom drawer of the file cabinet, and sure enough, there sat Lady Catherine.

"I told you I was not in here!" she exclaimed in outrage. "Oh…I mean, the file cabinet said that. Right."

"This is not to be borne!" Darcy screamed.

"Wait! That's my line," Lady Catherine became incensed.

"What are you doing in there?" Darcy asked imperiously.

"Don't you remember the original purpose of my attack? You must marry Anne, not Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"No. I want to be Fwood," Darcy whined.

"Fwood?"

"I don't know either, my point is…" he proceeded to explain his undying love for Miss Elizabeth Bennet. "I am going to propose to her as soon as I am given the opportunity."

"The only way to her is through me!" Lady Catherine screamed as she raised herself to her full height.

Darcy shuddered.

"You'll have to fight me first!" Lady Cat continued as she unsheathed a deadly sword.

"Oh, thank god!" Darcy wiped his brow in relief. Then, he realized he had no weapon. His eyes searched the room desperately, but only came up with a black fountain pen that Mr. Knightley had used to conduct Business business.

He seized the pen immediately, yelling, "En garde!"

His aunt laughed, "Darcy, that's a pen!"

"I know!" he replied proudly. "With a pen nib!"

"What's your point, dear?"

Darcy looked at her in annoyance, "The pen is mightier than the sword!" With that, he shook the pen violently as black ink fell all over her Ladyship's silken red gown.

"Ack!" she exclaimed. "Do you know what the dry cleaning bill on this will be?"

Taking advantage of her distraction, he lunged forward. Nimble as ever, his aunt hopped backwards, avoiding his charging pen.

Darcy succeeded in forcing his aunt outside in this manner. "Ah! Ahhh!" she screamed in fright. "Wait a minute… I've got a sword!" she remembered.

With one swift blow, Lady Catherine knocked the head off Darcy…'s pen, and held the sword close to his neck.

"You are done, Darcy! You will marry Anne!" she exclaimed in triumph.

Darcy hung his head, knowing that all his hope for the future was now dead. He silently waited for his aunt's revenge.

As his aunt leaned forward to claim her prize, she was violently pulled back against the wall.

*staple!*
*staple!*
*staple!*
*staple!*

"What the…?" she asked in surprise as she found that she could not move. Turning her head, she saw the triumphant Elizabeth Bennet wielding a staple gun and several yards of material, which now bound Lady Catherine tightly to the wall of Business.

After assuring herself that Lady Catherine was secure, Lizzy dropped her gun and ran desperately into Mr. Darcy's arms. "Are you all right, Fitzwilliam?" she sobbed against his chest.

As his arms wound around her, she immediately stepped back and composed herself. "I mean, 'Mr. Darcy.'"

"Please, call me Fwood," he smiled down at her. "Why did you come back?" he asked tenderly.

"Well, I kinda…well, I found myself…" Elizabeth began to explain. "…kind of, more inclined than I…well, uh, was previously….especially considering certain, shall we say, animosities, that have…well, you know…existed"

"By my…uh, pen, Elizabeth, thou lovst me!" he held up his disheveled pen for her to inspect.

Smiling craftily, she replied, "Do not swear and eat it."

"Eat it?!" he asked in surprise. "But it's filled with…ooohhh right! That Shakespeare thing…"

"Yes, dear," she shook her head, and put her hand in the crook of his elbow companionably.

"Elizabeth…Miss Bennet," he began seriously. "Shall we not walk towards Oxford Street?" After she nodded, he added, "And maybe you can help me solve this dilemma I've been pondering…"

As they walked off in search of Willoughby and the others, he began, "Say Mr. Knightley is making spaghetti sauce. He says that he prefers oregano, but I generally prefer marriage. What say you?"

Looking down, she replied rather softly, "My feelings are quite the opposite…"

"You prefer oregano?" he asked incredulously.

"Sorry, I'm just used to saying that…" she said with a blush. "No, I think I prefer marriage myself, especially in spaghetti."

"Well, since that is the case…Elizabeth, what do you say to making some spaghetti with me next December?" he asked hopefully.

"I would love to," she smiled.

Chapter 11: The Business Party

Posted on Friday, 19 June 1998

On the fifteenth day of December, Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy tied the spaghetti noodle in the Longbourn church. Jane Bennet and Charles Bingley also got married.

All those present agreed that the ceremony was uniformly beautiful, but unfortunately they could not hear the couples take their vows over Mr. Elton's loud bawling. And the beauty of the brides will always be overshadowed by Mr. Knightley's vehement response when the clergyman (theologian) asked for any reason why the two should not be wed. From the back of the pews, a strong voice called out, "Lack of oregano!"

Aside from that, the wedding went off marvelously, and the Businessmen, in order to celebrate the happiness of their two friends, decided to let women go where no women had gone before. In a one-time-only opportunity, Business was opened to women from all walks of life. They came from the world over to see that mysterious haven that their husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers had always escaped to, and were amazed with what they saw.

"They don't do any Business here!" Anne Wentworth exclaimed.

"Well, du-uhhh!" replied her husband. "What did you think we were doing? Working?"

"Oh, fetch my smelling salts, Hill! I feel faint," Anne wailed.

"I'm not hill," her maid, Carol Kent, answered, perplexed. "I'm not mountain, or lake, or stream, or anything!"

"Oh, sorry. Wrong novel. I'm always doing that," Mr. Bingley bowed deeply and apologized to Carol. "Wait! That wasn't me! You apologize, Anne!"

Before Mrs. Wentworth could say anything further, a young girl with long, straight, dark brown hair, burst into the room. "You call this a party?!?" she protested.

"Yes," Mr. Darcy said decidedly as he rose from Elizabeth's side.

"Well, then… In that case…" Meesh trailed off and slowly backed out of the room. Then, she went in search of the cook to instruct him to bring out the cocktail weenie bar.

Soon banners had been hung, the men all wore cone-shaped party hats, and a cart with fresh weenies was rolled in. And all the Businessmen were enjoying themselves tremendously. Mr. Wickham and Mr. Knightley had engaged in a good-natured game of "Pin the Tail on the Elton," while Mr. Darcy practiced his two-step with Frank Churchill. On the other side of the room, Mulder was showing Katt his moles, while Henry Tilney did a stunning rendition of "New York, New York."

Katt, tearing herself away from Mulder, started to give a tour of the Business establishment. Being acquainted with the building, she showed the women all the sites of Business, including Where The Pen Nibs Were and The Stairs Darcy Fell Down. When she came to Colonel Fitzwilliam's Closet, camera shutters started snapping furiously.

Katt was admonishing, "Please do not touch anything. As women, we might ruin the ecological balance of the Business environment, so please, be careful."

Before she could finish her spiel, Rachel had thrown herself into the closet, clinging to the box of pen nibs He had sat upon, and screaming, "I'm never letting go!"

"Okeeee," Katt said, deciding to let the Businessmen try to peel the girl off later. "Moving on…"

Behind her, Emmy and Jimmy looked around with wonder. Jimmy leaned over to inspect a fax machine, when a whiff of dust caused her to sneeze.

"Ah-choo!"

"Bless you," Emmy replied automatically. Then, as an afterthought, she asked, "Jimmy, have you ever sneezed in the rain?"

"Sure. Lots of times. In the rain. In the snow. When it's sunny. I sneeze a lot. Gosh, do I ever sneeze. Can you tell that someone doesn't know what to write?" she glared pointedly at Katt. "What does it matter, anyway?"

"Well, you know like the song: 'Have you ever sneeeeezzzeeedddd in the rain?*' I just wondered why they chose the rain to sneeze in," Emmy replied with a shrug.

"I don't think I've ever heard of that one…" Jimmy said, confused. "Unless you mean 'Have you ever seen the rain?'"

"No, I don't think that's it," Emmy mumbled. "But what is this obsession with mistaken oldies lyrics?"

"Well, they're funny, doofus," Meesh replied acerbically, as she approached the group from behind. "Anyway, Henry Tilney's doing his world-renowned rendition of 'The Copa Cabana!' Anyone want to dance?"

There was a mad rush for the stairs, as love-lorn women wanted to dance with the objects of their affection.

Downstairs, Cindy threw herself into Mr. Knightley's arms, shouting, "Dance for me, Knightley!"

Not two feet away, a peanut was also getting a-salted. (Get it?) Next to him, Frank Churchill fought off Meesh. "Frank, come back here! Fear and aggression lead to the dark side of the Force!" Meesh yelled. "I love you, Frank-kenobi!"

Up front, Henry Tilney kicked at Lise, Katt, and Malini, who were grabbing for the seat of his pants. Trying to keep the rhythm as he struggled with the women, he thought, "I feel the Colonel's pain. Admiration really is a Drag…"

Though the sound could not be heard over the ruckus in the ballroom, the doorbell had sounded, Bing, bing! Knowing it wasn't Bingley, because he was already inside, Darcy moved to open the door.

"Nib, anyone?" said a familiar voice.

"Colonel!" Darcy exclaimed in alarm. "You do know there are women here?"

"Women?" the Colonel asked in mild concern.

"Yes. Oh, good! You've come for our party. You must congratulate my Elizabeth…" Darcy continued.

"Women?" the Muffin reiterated.

But by then, it was too late. Mulder had spotted him. "Colonel! I'm so glad to see you!" he shouted in a loud voice.

"Why should you be so glad to see me?" Brandon asked from the opposite side of the room.

Ignoring the weenie Brandon, Mulder walked over to Colonel Fitzwilliam, "Gee, those pants of yours are like paranormal phenomenon. I mean, they're big talk around the FBI. That would be the Federal Investigation of Bureaus. Wait, switch those last two. Anyway, my partner Scully is doing extensive research on them!"

"Is she female?" Fitzwilliam asked wearily.

"How'd you know?" Mulder seemed surprised.

The Colonel simply walked passed Mulder, into the fray.

"Colonel!" Cathy exclaimed.

"Colonel!" the room echoed.

"Here we go again…" he mumbled as the women drew near.

An hour later, Colonel Fitzwilliam sat in the corner, nursing a Shirley Temple on the rocks, having disentangled himself from his female fans. Not being a big drinker, he mumbled, "This is really hard stuff…"

On stage, Henry Tilney had struck up the band for "It Had To Be You." As the Colonel listened to the lyrics ("It had to be you…"), he muttered into his drink, "Seems like it's always me…"

"Hit me with another!" The Colonel pounded on the counter.

"Sir, that's your third Shirley Temple. Seems like you've had enough," the bartender seemed dubious.

"I'll tell you when I've had enough!" he yelled in a drunken rage.

He stood up and walked unsteadily towards his closet, not knowing that Rachel still held her vigil.

"Wow! My pen nibs!" he exclaimed. "Oh, Rachel. What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you, o Colonel, my Colonel!" she shrieked.

"I should've been a captain," he said dreamily as Rachel pulled him into the closet with her.

As the party downstairs got rowdy, Kristina launched herself from the chandelier, doing her best Tarzan yell. Not one to be upstaged, Mary Kate placed a lampshade on her head and proceeded to do "The Twist."

Hilary leaped onstage, pushing Henry Tilney out of the way. Grabbing a spare cello, she played the wild and wacky Haydn Cello Concerto as Patti Drew did the mashed potato on the dance floor. When Hilary was done, she smashed the cello over her head in the grand tradition of rock guitarists.

"C'mon, Darcy!" Mary Ellen urged. "Let's get jiggy with it!"

"I don't intend to get 'jiggy' with anything," he replied severely. Then catching Elizabeth's eye, he nodded at her saying, "Excepting…"

He led his wife over to the weenie bar for some refreshment, where he met Colonel Brandon, Mr. Wickham, the Bingleys, and Mr. Knightley (who had finally escaped CK).

"I cannot believe these women!" Wickham exclaimed. "I mean, they are just all over me!"

"I didn't see any women anywhere near you…" Mr. Knightley said bitterly. "If only I were so lucky!"

Colonel Brandon, ever wary, presented a solution. "If you close your eyes," he began in a fever of genius, "the women can't see you!" He closed his eyes to demonstrate.

"Gee Colonel, great idea. I guess it's true what they say…you are what you eat," Darcy said sarcastically.

The Colonel looked down in surprise at the half-eaten weenie he held in his hand.

Speaking of the Colonel, Carolyn was standing by the punch table. Wait, that has nothing to do with the Colonel… oh well, too late now. She was trying her best to gather a group of unenthusiastic men to participate in a striptease for the women.

"C'mon, Frank," she implored the soon-to-be-Jedi, "You know it's been a long-time dream of yours."

"How did you know?" he asked with wide eyes. "You didn't hear about my dream with the hamsters and the accordion, did you?"

"No, but I'd be willing to listen…" she trailed off.

"Sorry, but I'm off for a haircut," he explained. Then, proudly, "I'm a coxcomb."

Carolyn looked at him askance. "Uh-huh."

The party was at fever pitch as Katt and Meesh lay on the floor with Spanish textbooks over their faces, singing "The Star-Spangled Banner" at the top of their lungs.** Patti Drew and Malini were busy spreading toilet paper on the pianoforte, while Annie talked loudly of her victory over the villain Willoughby. Women danced wildly, arms flailing and legs kicking in all directions. Hilary and Mary Kate knocked into each other so hard that they both fell to the floor unconscious.

Lise assaulted Henry Tilney's twin brother, Kilney, in the corner. She stopped her attack for a moment to observe, "Kilney Tilney? That's an odd name."

"Yes, and whenever anyone says 'Kill me!' I think they're talking to me!" he replied.

"Does that happen very often?" she asked.

"Surprisingly, it does," he nodded.

Mr. Darcy's nerves were a bit frayed by the loud party, but his patience came to an end when a loud "Mrrreeeeooowwww!" echoed through the room.

Two cats, named Wellington and Boddington, tore through the ballroom, amid shrieking ladies and startled gentlemen. Before the ruckus could settle down, a huge dog ran chaotically through the room, evidently chasing the cats. The dog managed to squash the toes of Kristina and Cathy, and upset a bowl of pink punch upon Mr. Elton.

"Nice color," he said, looking down. "But I think it matches Gatsby's suit better."

No sooner had the dog exited the room, than two women, pushing and shoving their way through, ran screaming.

"Boddington! Wellington!" one shouted after her cats. Then, turning to her companion, "They wouldn't have run if it hadn't been for your dog, Spring!"

"Fine, blame Sandy!" Spring replied vehemently. "But dogs are better than cats any day!"

"Oh, this means war…" Alice growled.

"Want to make something of it?" Spring replied menacingly.

Soon, the two ladies were engaged in a fistfight. A ring formed around them, and Katt started taking bets.

"Five bucks on Spring!" Meesh yelled, handing Katt the dough.

"No way! Alice has got the goods…and I should know a winner!" Annie shouted back.

But Mr. Darcy had had enough.

"ENOUGH!" he shouted redundantly. The crowd froze, wondering who was trying to interrupt their fun.

"I want everyone out of here!" he yelled, incensed. "I knew it was a bad idea to let women in here! Shoo! Shoo!" He swatted his arms at Emmy and Jimmy as they headed towards the door.

As he continued his tirade, the women filed out, complaining of their rude dismissal. Elizabeth Darcy headed for the door, but Mr. Darcy caught her arm. "I didn't mean you, dearest! We still have some spaghetti to make…" he said with a wink.

Mr. Elton walked up and clapped Mr. Darcy on the back. "Isn't it pleasant to have one's haven to one's self again?"

Mr. Darcy glared, "I did mean you. Get out! I intend to get my jiggy in peace! Everybody but the Bingleys and Elizabeth, get out!"

Soon, Business had been emptied of all but five inhabitants. Five, you ask? Yes, five. The ghost of Lady Anne Darcy sat contentedly on a rafter above the ballroom as she observed her son with his new wife.

"I am glad Fitzwilliam has found such happiness," she thought to herself. "The new Mrs. Darcy is everything that is amiable and worthy, to quote Sense and Sensibility."

Below, Elizabeth Bennet, excuse us, Darcy, looked up, rather puzzled. "Who's that on the rafter?" she asked her husband.

"Hmm?" he asked. "Oh… That's just Inko. Don't worry about that, she's a permanent fixture. We allow her to stay because she's a few cans short of a six-pack. A few McNuggets short of nine-piece. A few eggs short of a dozen. A few cards short of a deck. A few geese short of a gaggle. A few-"

Darcy stopped speaking as his new wife interrupted him with a passionate kiss. "Shut up, dear," she said.

However, before their kiss progressed much further, a sharp knock came at the door.

Muttering to himself, Darcy went to open it, and was surprised to find CK standing on the doorstep with a briefcase in her hand.

"Are you Mr. Darcy?" she asked professionally.

"Last time I checked," he said still annoyed.

"I've come to give you this," she handed him a piece of paper. "It's a subpoena. See you in court." She started to walk away.

"What?" he asked, dragging her back.

"You're being sued," she said simply. "For discrimination against women. You should have an equal-opportunity Business."

"But…but…" he spluttered. "But Business is for men!"

Cindy simply smiled. "Welcome to the '90s, boys."

Finis

**This really happened, by the way. Pretty pathetic, isn't it? :)

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