*

"What's next on your list, fruitcake?"

"I like how you can make that sound like 'lovebird'."

"Terms of endearment need to be reinvented for you, Mulder."

"This weekend you can can call me anything you want."

They drove a bit. Krycek paused at a light. "So. Come on. I know I've forgotten some of the things." His face twitched sardonically. "But there can't be too much left," he added in a mutter.

"Mm. . .we've done a lot of them." Mulder sounded smug. "Let's see," he said. Even in his depleted state he managed to enunciate fairly well. "I've got to backtrack." He began listing out loud, mostly to himself but in a very normal tone of voice, the sort of voice one might use to say *butter, milk, eggs*. "We went to the club. Danced. Bathroom--smoked the joint. Danced some more. Let that guy do me against the wall--"

"Public sex," Alex agreed blandly, as the car picked up speed again. Item number one.

"Can I show my face in that club again, I wonder."

"Mulder. They've probably already carved a sacred statue to you and hung it over the bar." Alex's voice was dry, low, incredulous in memory but amused at the moment.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," Mulder said gloomily, apropos of a more private train of thought.

"You're okay."

"Clubs aren't what they used to be."

"That's probably a good thing."

Mulder leaned his head back on the seat-rest and began listing again. "Went to Denny's. Gave you head in the parking lot--didn't I?"

"You did."

"Thought so. Where'd we--oh, and then back to my place." Pause. "That was interesting." Pause. "I'm not sure I want to do that again but I was kind of drunk. Maybe, you know. . .you should be lucid."

"I'd think getting pissed on would pretty much suck drunk or sober," Alex said, grimacing to himself sourly.

"You've never done it, though. Could have been worse--I coulda--"

"Yeah, I *know*. Jesus." His tone was flat now, edgy, and clearly said: drop it.

"Mm. Okay. Then Saturday. Let me see. . .the enema. The bondage thing. The dildo." Mulder sounded detached, even bored, then suddenly began perking up again. "Then the limousine ride." His voice dropped to husked reminiscence.

"That was fun." Alex grinned to himself.

"Then we picked up. . .Barbie?"

"Gilda."

Mulder was quelled, disturbed. "Gilda. . .how'd I get Barbie?"

"I have no idea."

"And Eric. . .did you like Eric?"

"I wasn't paying him much attention, babe."

"Guess not. . .okay. Let's see--did the cross-dressing thing this morning. That lady in the bagel shop was pretty funny. . ."

"Just a thought. There's a place you might not want to show your face again."

"Flagellation," Mulder said to himself. "You know T.E. Lawrence, Lawrence of Arabia, paid John Bruce to administer him private floggings for twelve straight years. . ."

"Mulder, I belted your ass--you forgotten already?"

"Yeah, but. . .it wasn't *hard*."

"You have to go to work tomorrow."

"I know there was something else I wanted to do." Without warning, Mulder yawned hugely.

"Why don't we call it a day."

"We could drop by Skinner's place."

"Yeah fuckin' right."

Each had additional thoughts, but neither man spoke the other, unspeakable alternative that occurred to him. After a few minutes, Alex halted the car at a curb and said, "You got some other item on the agenda, Mulder, spit it out. I'm tired."

"You'll be leaving tomorrow," Mulder said quietly. Resigned, depressed?

Alex's gaze dropped, contemplated itself, rose. "I have things to do. Business. I told you that. Next time maybe we should just try lying around your apartment--or get a hotel room. Take-out, you know? Hot tub?" His tone was both gentle and needling.

"Hot tub," Mulder said dreamily. "There's still time."

"Hilton or Marriot?"

Mulder's eyelids slid heavily shut. "You decide."

*

G'morning...