"All good things must come to an end..." - Geoffrey Chaucer

"So do I have your agreement?"

O'Donahue waited a moment before he answered, studying his boss instead. Ms. O looked ever so slightly tense, fingering a jelly bean over and over again. It was comforting to know that she wanted consent before she promoted his partner.

But not quite comforting enough.

Still, what could he say? "Oprah'll sure be stoked about getting picked to take your place," he began, trying to be chill about it. "I'm happy for her, really."

"But...?"

"But what happens to me?"

Ms. O gave him a sympathetic look. "I know this will be a hard adjustment for you. Ogden was never quite the same after I became Ms. O back in the day. Then again, I think transferring to Events & Support was a bogus decision for him." She leaned forward. "There is a spot open for you to be her adviser, if you want it. It's not really an official job, but it might give you a more suitable purpose while keeping Oprah as your partner."

O'Donahue thought about it. This was interesting. "Could I still solve cases?" he asked.

"Oh, totally! You'd most likely be solving them solo, but Oprah could still go solve them with you when she's not busy with everything else." Ms. O cracked a smile. "Even the boss can make it out into the field on occasion. And then it'll still feel like old times for you, right?"

He sighed, returning the smile halfheartedly. "Guess I don't got much of a choice, dude. Count me in."

"Cool beans," Ms. O said, visibly relaxing her shoulders and popping the jellybean in her mouth. "I'll fill you in on the details when we get closer to the test date on May 25. But for now, you can get back to work."

In spite of his disappointment, O'Donahue held back a chuckle as he stood up to go. For one, she hadn't yelled that last bit, and for another, she hadn't told him to tuck in his shirt. Gotta count my blessings, he thought.

"Oh, and O'Donahue?"

He turned back around. "Yes, ma'am?"

"If Oprah asks about our meeting, tell her I found out about your secret little relationship and gave you a strict talking-to about staying kids and not flirting with other bow-heads."

O'Donahue's eyes widened. He felt himself turn red. "How did you—?"

"Never mind about that! Now tuck in your shirt and totally get back to work!"

So much for counting blessings.

* * * * *

Oprah watched O'Donahue run down the stairs and jog over to her at their desks. Something seemed off about him. "So what's the haps?" she asked curiously. "Did Ms. O catch you spending too much time with the teasing comb?"

"Hey, speak for yourself!" he joked back, flicking her permed hair with the back of his hand before she swatted it away. "But no. We've, um, been discovered."

Oprah went cold.

"But it's cool!" he went on hurriedly. "She didn't kirk out or anything. Just reminded me not to go trippin' with other bow-heads and went on about remembering to stay kids and blah blah blah. Dunno if calling me up to the office was even worth it."

"If you say so." Oprah narrowed her eyes. Something was still off. He said that a little too quickly at the end. "Is that all?"

"Hmm...no, it's not." Grabbing his chair, he sat down close beside her and whispered, "I got us advance tickets to see Return of the Jedi."

"You did?" Oprah practically squealed. "Dude, that's wicked! I can't wait!"

"Oh, so now you admit Star Wars is awesome."

"Bag your face," she retorted with a smile, playfully swatting at him. "But really, that's so bonus! Although, it's kind of sad we won't be standing in line, waiting to buy our tickets on May 25 anymore, like we used to do."

The grin on O'Donahue's face faded. A shadow seemed to pass over his features. "Did you say...May 25?"

Uh-oh, she thought. Something's wrong here. "Yeah, that's when the release date is. It's when we were planning to go like usual, right?"

"Yeah...right...I'm gonna go, uh, check something out in the, uh, Pots and Pans Room. Uh, later!" And with that, he hurried away—in the complete opposite direction of the Pots and Pans Room.

Oprah watched him go worriedly. He's definitely got something on his mind, she thought. It looks like he's disappointed. But he usually tells me everything that's bothering him.

So why wouldn't he tell me anything just now?

* * * * *

May 25, 1983.

O'Donahue watched his partner get promoted.

It wasn't hard for him to pretend to be the totally-cool-yet-totally-clueless one during the "case". He'd rocked that role before, and Ms. O and Math Room were there to back him up. What had been hard was walking away from her at the train station. O'Donahue could almost feel the confusion and anger radiating from Oprah and slamming into him from behind, though he couldn't bear to look at her face to know for sure. With the sunglasses on he pretended to feel less pain, but in reality, every step farther away was another reminder of his betrayal.

But all that melted away at the warehouse when she hugged him.

Still keeping up the bravado, he'd made his entrance from behind the pillar, whipped off his sunglasses, then did the classic handshake fake. Yet she saw through it all, and once Ms. O was gone, gave him what she normally wouldn't be caught dead in: a warm embrace.

"Hey, I mean it," O'Donahue said. "I'm happy for you. You worked hard, you deserve it."

"You think so?" She pulled away, looking at him with an unreadable expression. "This won't change anything between us, will it?"

O'Donahue chuckled. "Get real, baby doll," he said, using his classic pet nickname for her that he knew she loved. "You're still stuck with me because I get to be your official adviser now. Watch out, Oprah, 'cuz Olga is back in town."

"Oh, whatever!" Oprah grabbed his hand and began leading him outside to the tube entrance, chattering away about her new plans. "Let's see, Ms. O will need a day to move all her things out, which gives me time to move all of my things out from my desk...I'll have to get a fresh suit, yes, gotta ask about that...should still have time for Return of the Jedi tonight..."

With each excited comment she made, O'Donahue felt another stab of disappointment.

* * * * *

Olesya had been wrong.

It wasn't like old times at all.

Now that Oprah was the new Ms. O, she was busy all the time. Like, all the time. Things had been okay for O'Donahue at first, when she was still moving into the office and needed his help arranging things. ("Should the Rubik's Cube go on this shelf or that one?" "The photograph of me and Yucks at the fruit stand can't go there, it'll be hidden behind the plant." Or his favorite, "I want your drawing framed on my desk, not behind me where I can't see it!") But then the real work started coming in: phone calls, faxes, and video footage about this odd case and that, plus requests from agents for her to oversee this procedure and that. At first, Oprah asked for his advice and assistance constantly, and he was only too happy to help. But as the year wore on, he saw her less and less. She didn't ask for his help as often anymore, sending him on solo cases or errands for her instead. And unlike Olesya had promised, she was never able to get out of the office to solve any cases with him.

Although he never wanted to admit it, O'Donahue could feel her slipping farther and farther away from him.

One evening, as everyone was starting to leave for home, as Oprah was ending a phone call from some guy named Cliff Hanger thanking the Odd Squad for finally rescuing him, he confronted her about it. "Oprah, why have you been casting me out?" he blurted.

She didn't answer, wouldn't meet his eyes. Her shoulders were slumped.

"You...you still care, right?"

Oprah opened her desk drawer and pulled out a wooden board and a container of purple paint. Wordlessly she got up and handed the board to him, then took a step back and rolled up her sleeves. O'Donahue held out the board and squeezed his eyes shut. Six seconds later there was a loud "Hi-yah!" and the board snapped clean in two.

O'Donahue opened his eyes. "What was that for?"

In answer, Oprah held up the container of paint. "Fingerpainting, of course. Now there's one for each of us."

He blinked. "Huh?"

She smiled and picked up the two halves of the board, handing one back to him. "The old Ms. O told me it's in my job description to be a kid, even as the boss. Better after hours with you than never, right?"

O'Donahue looked at his half of the board, then back at her. "Does this mean yes?"

"Of course it does, you narbo!" Oprah punched him on the arm playfully. "Now come on. I've been aching to fingerpaint all day."

Hours later, sitting on one of the couches, Oprah had fallen asleep on his shoulder. The long day had taken its toll on her. As O'Donahue stealthily slipped her painting off her lap and onto the coffee table, he realized just how much he'd missed this. Just him and Oprah, together forever, out to conquer the world and fight oddness. She hadn't answered his first question, but O'Donahue didn't particularly care anymore. Because he realized she also knew she'd started slipping away, and tonight was her way of fixing that. Or at least trying to. But as O'Donahue put his arm around her and began drifting off to sleep, he knew it was a step in the right direction. Oprah hadn't left him yet, and maybe one of these days, when everything settled down for her, it really would be like old times again.

At least, that's what he believed. Until the morning the ball room burst its banks.

* * * * *

To this day, no one knows exactly what had happened in the Ball Pit Control Room back in 1984. But one minute everything was quiet, the next everything was drowned out by the Code Topaz klaxons. O'Donahue, wrapped up in a game of Pac-Man Solitaire at the juice bar, didn't notice at first until he saw Oprah dash out from the office to her stool. When he heard her cry of alarm, he forgot all about his game and ran to join her. What he saw took his breath away.

Below them, Odd Squad agents were knee-deep in brightly-colored plastic balls.

"How did this happen?" O'Donahue shouted over the alarms.

Just then, Agent Olmstead popped up beside them, completely out of breath. "I'm sorry, Ms. O!" she panted, her caramel side ponytail in static disarray. "I don't know what happened! Security tried to stop it, but the balls just kept coming!"

"Then why didn't you sound the alarm sooner? Or come get me?" Oprah shouted back.

"I don't know, I wasn't thinking straight! I'm sorry!"

Oprah waved her away. "Never mind, we'll talk later! Get everyone out of here, NOW!"

As Olmstead scurried off, Oprah grabbed O'Donahue's hand. "Come on, partner, we gotta jet! To the control room, before it's too late!"

Before he could reply, she dragged him over to the slide and down they went, plunging into the rising balls below. Off she went toward the hallways, and O'Donahue struggled to follow. "Oprah, wait up!" he shouted after her, when suddenly he heard it: a deep creaking and groaning within the building's foundations.

Uh-oh. That's can't be good.

"Oprah, what's the plan?" he called, wading through the balls.

She didn't answer, just kept on going. Hoping for the best, O'Donahue followed her until they rounded a corner—and found their way completely blocked by a mountain of balls stretching from head to ceiling. Worse, it was rapidly sliding forward and threatening to overtake them.

Oprah was frozen, rooted to the spot in horror. "That's not possible! The control room is just ahead!" was all she could shout.

O'Donahue grabbed her hand and yanked her back. "Oprah, come on! There's gotta be another way, but we gotta book it out of here!"

At that moment, a change seemed to come over her. She suddenly seemed tired and world-weary, in a way O'Donahue hadn't seen her since that day in 1946. Then she turned around and began making her way through the now-waist-deep balls to the hallway leading to the Tube Lobby. "We have to abandon headquarters!" she yelled over her shoulder. "NOW!"

Maybe it was his imagination, but the klaxons seemed to get louder and more feverish in their blaring. What did she just say? O'Donahue thought in shock. "No, Oprah, listen!" he shouted back, close behind her. "Don't give up, there's still time! If we work together, we can save the squad!" Then he did something he hadn't done since before her promotion: "Oh yeah!" he said with an expectant grin, holding up his hand and waiting for her high-five.

But instead, Oprah just stared at him.

O'Donahue's grin faded. "Oprah?" Why isn't this working? We're partners, this is what we always do. Isn't it? "Don't leave me hanging, Oprah!" he said desperately, a sickening feeling spreading in his gut. I don't believe it. She's gonna do it.

She's gonna leave me hanging.