~*~

Diebin stared at the piece of paper sitting on the table in front of her, her shoulders sinking under the weight of limitless guilt.

Across the top she had scrawled, "Things That Are My Fault".

Even in her smallest handwriting, the list covered the front and the back of the page before spilling out into the margins.

Fact was, everything that had happened in the last few weeks could be traced firmly back to the secretary.

Make that--the ex-secretary.

It had all started with the General's Master-Wannabe act. And that had all started when he'd found Diebin in a compromising position with another man.

On the floor.

Of his office.

Diebin let her head fall into her hands. Everything was her fault. Caeryn's insanity, Emmy's loss of her Diva-Mojo, Shana's sudden descent into suspected ax murderer, Jael's emerging split personality . . . even Ban's loss of her chances for an HSU Opera House. It could all be traced back to Diebin.

Pretty much the only thing that had happened in the last few days that /wasn't/ her fault was Darry quitting smoking . . . but she was convinced that she could trace it back to her if she really had to.

Diebin let her head fall out of her hands and crash into the desk. The bonfire had been nice and therapeutic . . . but now that the pyromaniac in her had died down, there was a lot more room for the guilt to crawl into the corners of her mind and strangle her.

And boy was it ever.

Well, it was time for Diebin to start making amends. And first on the list was to set everyone's minds at ease and prove to them that she could take care of herself. They needn't worry about Diebin anymore.

Without lifting her face off the desk, Diebin reached over and smashed her hand into the button for speaker phone, and then started hitting the speed dial buttons.

Four wrong numbers and one irate Caeryn later, Diebin had Cal on the phone.

"I need a ride somewhere," Diebin muttered, her voice muffled by the desk.

"But the General gave you a car," Cal replied, his voice sounding a little subdued. Apparently the debacle with the pink frock had deflated his ego a little bit.

"No," Diebin responded tiredly. "He gave everyone a car except for me. I think he knows that this is all my fault."

Cal pondered telling Diebin that there was a perfectly nice VW Bug sitting outside just waiting for her, but he certainly didn't want to step on the General's toes. If the General hadn't told Diebin about the car yet, there was a reason. "I don't know if I have time now--"

"Cal." Diebin lifted her head up and picked up the phone, speaking directly into it. "If you are not here in five minutes, I am going to reopen the Tattler and start publishing those pictures I have from years ago of you in that green dress."

Cal pondered this. He could still pretend that the pink dress think last night had been a fluke. But if Diebin started pulling old pictures out and waving them around . . .

"I'll be right there."

~*~

"What do you mean, not qualified?" Diebin demanded, feeling a little like her old self.

The woman in the horn rimmed glasses behind the counter gave Diebin yet another disdainful look. "You've applied for a position as a secretary."

"That's what I am," Diebin snapped, crossing her arms over her catsuit clad chest. "I'm a secretary to a very important man."

The woman looked down at Diebin's hastily scrawled application. "I'm sorry, but this just won't do. For one thing, the ability to get out of a catsuit in under a minute is /not/ one we look for in a secretary."

Diebin paused. The General had always been very appreciative of that particular skill of hers . . . and finding out that it didn't cross over to other forms of employment was a distinct disappointment.

"I have other skills," Diebin protested, pointing to the bottom of the list where she had dutifully scribbled down her typing speed and computer knowledge. "I just thought these first ones were more impressive. They're the skills I exercise most now."

The employment officer squinted at the list. "Nutella art, seductive swaying, impressive stamina, unnatural sex drive . . ." Raising an eyebrow, the woman shook her head. "With a résumé like this, my dear, there is only one place you're qualified to work, and I'm afraid it's in the next county over.

Diebin's shoulders sank. Testosterone County was definitely /not/ her favorite place to be, but she had to prove to everyone that she could get a job.

"I'll take it."

~*~

"This is getting really odd, Emmy," Shana said, staring out the window at something. Emmy shifted over, dragging her blanket behind her, and peered outside.

Diebin was pulling Cal's mustang into the parking lot, the early morning sun glinting off the hood. The tired looking Ho climbed out of the car, slamming the door behind her and stumbling across the lawn, dragging a large backpack behind her.

"Where does she go every night?" Shana demanded, shaking her head. "For the last week, every night she leaves here and comes crawling back in just after dawn. What is she doing?"

Emmy sighed, snuggling back down into the couch and clutching her Pooh Bear to her. "Maybe she's going out to get sex. She's not getting any from the General yet." The look Emmy cast at Shana tried to be accusatory, but lacking the Divah Punch, it just fell flat.

Shana sighed, shaking her head. "The only person she could be sneaking off to see is George, and I know she's not. I called David last night and asked him, and he says George has been with him. So it must be something else."

"I don't know what she's doing," Emmy sighed. "I don't know anything anymore. I'm just such a failure." Sniffling slightly, Emmy pulled her blanket over her head and curled into a ball.

Shana let her head fall into her hands. Something had to be done around here, or being the only sane person would drive her crazy again.

~*~

David and George were just being seated at their regular table at Hooters when the Jungle Man leapt to his feet, starting to bounce around excitedly.

David heaved a tortured sigh. He was still not sure what transgression on his part had caused Shana to send this overly-excitable grammatically challenged man to live with him. He must have done something really bad if Shana had sent George as his punishment.

"George miss Diebin!" George was crying out, launching himself at one of the scantily clad waitresses. "Why Diebin make George go away?"

David's jaw dropped open.

Enduring the enthusiastic hugging of George was Diebin, the once proud Ho, now degraded to serving testosterone-charged men really bad food while letting them ogle her. Gone were the stylish glasses, the stiletto heels, and the skin tight catsuit. In it's place, Diebin wore the horrific orange number that was the trademark of Hooters everywhere.

"What Diebin doing here?" George demanded, still hugging the harried looking Ho blind.

"Diebin had to get a new job," Diebin replied tiredly. "And this is all I'm qualified for, I guess."

George kept hugging Diebin.

David pulled out his cell phone and speed dialed Shana's number.

~*~

Shana was curled up into the General's side when the phone started ringing.

"Ignore it," he pleaded softly, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her closer.

"I can't," Shana replied tiredly, reaching over across the General to get to the phone. "It might be important."

The General sighed, nuzzling his face into Shana's neck as she answered the phone.

She'd been talking for about two seconds when her entire body went stiff.

"She WHAT?" Shana screeched, causing the General to wince. Shana sat bolt upright, dragging the phone across the bed. "If you are lying to me, so help me . . ."

The General raised an eyebrow, sitting up and trying to lean forward far enough to catch the conversation.

"Okay, I'll be there soon," Shana finally sighed. She cast a look at the General, and then paused. "Umm . . . the General will be coming with me. So . . . you know what that means." Pause. "Yeah, both of you." Another pause, while the General started getting a little bit suspicious. "Just leave now. We'll get her out."

Shana hung up the phone with a click, turning to face the General. "Get dressed. We've got someone to go pick up."

"And that would be?" Leaning over to kiss Shana, the General obediently climbed from the bed and started to pull his clothing on.

"Diebin has decided to get a new job."

The General paused in the act of pulling his pants up. "She . . . what?"

"Got a new job." Shana repeated, climbing from bed and starting to get dressed.

The General had a bad feeling about this. "Where?"

Shana gave him a look, and he could tell she was assessing his ability to deal with the truth. Trying to appear very stable and ready to deal with anything, he waited.

"Hooters," Shana finally said, waiting for the explosion.

It didn't take long.

~*~

Diebin rode in the back of the Shana's car, the General's cloak pulled up around her otherwise unmodestly clad body. She could feel her lower lip trembling, could feel the tears starting to come.

She just couldn't do anything right. She couldn't even get a job without just pissing everyone else off more.

The General had marched in, told her boss she was quitting, picked her up, and marched right back out. Two minutes all told, and Diebin was out of a job, relegated to the back seat, and wrapped in the cloak of a man who most definitely hated her now.

It didn't help that it smelled so good. Turning her head to the side, Diebin inhaled wistfully, wishing that she could turn back time and stop herself from frolicking with the Jungle Man.

Well--maybe not /stop/ . . . but definitely tell herself to do it somewhere else. Somewhere a little more discreet.

Sniffling slightly, she hid her face in the robe's hood, hoping no one would notice her quietly crying in the back seat.

She was so distracted by her own feelings of universal guilt that she didn't notice the slightly troubled aqua eyes watching her in the rear view mirror.

~*~