The background: When these were written, Lucy Rafebabe and a few others (including the Truckbabes)  were just getting into the swing of giving owwies to Rafe , Brown and Jim's "Sweetheart". I thought Rhonda needed a "champion" <G>. Add to *that* a discussion on the relative merits of Mac's and PC's (Mac's rule! ) and telephone headsets...

"Rhonda! What in the world happened in here!"

Simon stood in the doorway of his office with an incredulous look on his face.
He'd been on the phone with  Comissioner Warren when he had heard an ungodly
shriek, the sound of a desk chair rolling backwards, and the sound of something
heavy and plastic hitting the carpet. He'd hung up as soon as he could, but it
hadn't been soon enough to catch  anything but the aftermath.

"I've had it, Captain Banks! I've had it up to, to,... my *eyebrows* with this job!"

Simon looked at his secretary. He'd been a good boss. He'd been considerate.
He'd done the Secretary's Day thing. He'd done the birthday thing. He'd done
the Christmas thing. He'd complimented her on anything and everything he could
so that she would know he valued her skills. He had, in fact, done everything
he could to be a boss without peer, and here she was telling him she had *had it* with her job.

What could he have neglected?

'I come in here, day after day. Do my job. Put in my time as a minor character.
I'm non-threatening to any of the relationships or story themes. I take no
screen time away from anyone. I'm a background character. I accept that. Well,
no more!"

"Rhonda! Tell me! What "no more" are you talking about!"

"That!"

Simon looked at the floor. He saw bits and peices of  biege/grey plastic and
the innards of what could only be a computer. Oookkkaaay...he'd bite.

"Rhonda, why is your computer on the floor in ten million little pieces?"

"Because it's a generic pc. Because it's beige/grey. Because it seems like
everyone on my favorite mailing list has a new Macintosh computer - or at
least a brand new Pentium III that they had built to their own specifications!
I want color! I want versitility. I want...an orange IMac!"

Simon considered his options, and came to a decision.

"O.k., Rhonda. Why don't you get this cleaned up. I'll go talk to...I'll go
talk to Blair. He just got a new G3 Powerbook after a friend of his trashed
his old laptop. Uh, you stay right there, O.K.? You'll be alright?" He eyed
her carefully for signs of incipient dementia.

"And that's another thing! You can't talk to Blair! He's at the hospital! He's
bleeding internally, has a broken wrist, and can't talk, either!"

"What! Why didn't anyone tell me this! How could this happen?" Simon was aghast!

"And don't try talking to Rafe or Brown, either! Somehow *they've* gotten into
the hurt/comfort business, now, too!"

"What!"

"Yes!And I've decided I want equal time, here, too! I think it's about time *I* got an
owwie or two, Captain Banks! It isn't fair! I want someone to worry about *me*
once in while. It doesn't even have to be on camera, we can start small....I'm
a minor character, so....."

Simon looked at his secretary and decided to tackle the easiest problem first.
He turned and went into his office. Where had he hidden that MacZone catalog?
Bottom left drawer? ....

Simon Banks hummed silently as he walked through the Bullpen toward his
office, surreptitiously glancing about him to gage the day's mood. Lately the
angst factor had been quite high, higher even than the already high personal
injury level.
 

These things seemed to come in waves. Usually it was Blair getting seriously
injured with Jim suffering angst. Oh, the guilt that man could feel!
(He'd consulted a psychologist, Dr. Donsee, who had assured him this was
quite natural, desirable, even). The next step in the natural progression would
be for Jim's angst to be compounded by the concern of the rest of the department.

Less common, thank God, were the times Jim would be injured. Blair would be
totally out of it during those times, and, again, the department would rally round
while Jim recuperated. They'd drop off food, run errands, sit with Jim while
Blair got some much needed sleep. They'd also cover for them on the job.

Lately, Rafe and Brown seemed to be topping the charts for injury and angst.
Had they always suffered so, with no one to notice? No, *he'd* noticed. He
hadn't acted on it, but he'd noticed. If he hadn't, then how could *he* suffer
the requisite amount of angst? He was the Captain, dammit! He *had* to suffer
for his men! All of them!

He was glad he'd brought that new counselor on board, Dr. Lu-Cee Hayle. She'd
pointed out so many more opportunities for suffering. How could he have left
Rafe and Brown hanging for so long, thinking no one cared?

He hadn't even realized that so many women worried over Jim's truck!

And speaking of women...

He poured himself his first on-the-job cup of coffee for the day and glanced
through his doorway to Rhonda's office. Yes, it was there. That commercial
artist had done a fine job, after all. Might have thought he, Simon, was a
little balmy, but he'd done as requested.

On Rhonda's desk was a brand new MacIntosh G4 computer. The kind you couldn't
get outside the country, yet. Painted a bright tangerine (not orange) in imitation of the
iMac the department had decided against. Beside it was a phone headset.

Never let it be said that he didn't do his research. He belonged to the
mailing lists, too. Maybe he couldn't remember that replies went to the list
instead of the individual, but, by George ! he could pick up on the threads!

Oh, yes. He'd be the Boss of the Year, this year, for sure. Forget compliments,
flowers, appreciation of skills! Give your secretary what she wants! A
colorful new computer and...

Well, let's just say that when the usually graceful Rhonda got all tangled up
between the new computer and the new headset at...exactly 8:04...

...every guy in the bullpen would be in her office offering comfort for her hurt.

Oh, yeah. He was a shoe-in for the award this year.

Now, to arrange some hurt/comfort for *himself*...

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