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"It's me."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in the sin capital of the world and I'm alone in my bedroom. Why aren't you ever around when I need you?"

"Because you're supposed to be working."

"I've *been* working. Now I'm relaxing."

"Alone? In Las Vegas? Even you should be able to get a date."

"I don't know why I bother to call you."

"All things considered, I'm probably the only person you know who doesn't hang up when they hear your voice."

"I miss you less than I thought."

"Am I to assume this is a personal call?"

"Not as personal as it was going to be," the agent admitted.

"Your tax dollars at work."

"What?"

"This is what happens when you give government employees cellular phones and unlimited accounts."

"Are you accusing me of abusing my position?"

"I don't know. What position are you in?" That was rewarded with a husky laugh.

"Walter . . . are you coming on to me?"

"Are you going to answer the question?"

"And I was beginning to give up hope. What position do you want me in?"

Skinner shifted nervously. He might have known that giving in to the temptation to tease his lover would get him into trouble quickly. "Don't get carried away."

"Too late. You know those big double mirrors they have on hotel closet doors?"

"Stop right there."

"No? Let's see. I have half a donut, half a ham sandwich, and fourteen towels. I'm handicapped here, Walter. Whoever designed these rooms wasn't thinking about sex."

"You should have thought about that before you called."

"This is ridiculous,"> Mulder said irritably. "They give you three of those little hangers with no hooks and fourteen towels. If they want to stop people from stealing souvenirs, they should give you fourteen theft-proof hangers and three towels."

"Maybe you should mention it to someone."

"Later. I'm busy right now."

"Make yourself a note," Walter advised. "You could revolutionize hotel management."

"If I get rich and retire, you could come and work for me,"> Mulder offered.

"And do what?"

"I see you as sort of a general butler-factotum type. You know, wash the car, sweep the pool, rub suntan oil into my back, that kind of thing."

"That doesn't sound like a full-time job for a grown man."

"You'd be surprised how a man could keep himself busy in a job like that,"> Mulder said thoughtfully.

"It may surprise you to know that getting your naked body covered in suntan oil is not the sum total of my ambition in this world," Walter told him.

"How about a party? I could throw a party,"> Mulder offered invitingly.

"For your lunatic friends?" Walter asked. "Count me out. Spending nine hours listening to you debate which camera lens to use to photograph crop circles from a hot-air balloon doesn't come up that high on my list of preferred activities either."

"Would you like to supervise an orgy?"the agent asked anxiously.

"A what?"

"Don't tell me you're unfamiliar with the concept, Walter. You know, an orgy. A bunch of naked people in a room together having loads of cheap, casual sex. Edible body paints, silk pillows, velvet handcuffs, and screams of passion. Stop me if any of this starts sounding familiar to you."

"That's it?" Walter asked. "You get rich and your ambition is to screw a bunch of strangers in a crowded room?"

"You're jumping to conclusions again," Mulder accused, "All I wanted was a little suntan oil massage. You're the one that wanted something more creative."

"And what is my role in this?" Walter asked. "As butler-general factotum? Do I hand out clean towels for the guests and field irate phone calls from the neighbors?"

"Actually, I was thinking of it as a surprise for your birthday. As the birthday boy, you'd naturally be the center of the action."

"Which would involve, what, exactly?"

Mulder told him, in graphic detail. Skinner listened to the improbable and not particularly erotic suggestions in stunned silence for several minutes before suspicion kicked in. "Agent Mulder."

"Yes, sir?"

"The charge for that pay-per-view movie had better not show up on your expense report," he warned.

"I think it's listed under 'sundries' or 'miscellaneous' or something,"Mulder assured him.

"I'm not approving it."

"Why not?"> Mulder sounded surprised. "I'm sharing the good parts with you."

"If those are the good parts . . . never mind."

"What? You didn't like it?"

"The part about the bottle opener was impossible."

"No it wasn't. I saw it,"> Mulder claimed.

"Trick photography," Walter guessed.

"Are you suggesting they're faking it?"

"I'm saying they'd better be. If that isn't illegal in most states, it should be."

"This is an excellent movie, Walter. You should rent it. I'm sure you'd be impressed."

"If I'm as impressed as you are, it would be a waste of money," Walter told him. "You got bored in the middle and started making phone calls."

"Yes, but obscene ones. That has to count for something."

"If none of your other calls have been any more obscene than this one . . . ."

"Is that a complaint? Or a request?"

"We've been on here for fifteen minutes," his lover pointed out. "All you've done so far is narrate part of a shitty movie and offer me the leftovers from your last meal as erotica. I have to say this isn't one of your better efforts."

"I didn't know I was being graded."

"The fact that I'm watching the clock should tell you something."

"You have something better to do?"

"It wouldn't be difficult. This isn't that much fun."

"You have any suggestions?"

"For what?"

"You're the one complaining. You come up with something,"Mulder challenged.

Walter thought for a few minutes.

"Well? Are you there?"

"I'm thinking." *What the hell . . . .*

"Not that simple, is it?" Mulder sounded smug.

"For starters, you should change your diet," Walter decided.

"My what?"

"Whipped cream may be a cliche, but it's better than a ham sandwich," he said calmly.

"Are you telling me that you get turned on by dairy products?"

"No. I'm telling you it would make a better subject of conversation than a stale ham sandwich."

"How about mustard?"

"Mustard?"

"I have some left from the sandwich."> Mulder explained. "Still in the little plastic packets. How about it?"

"Forget it."

"Work with me here, Walter."

"Why?"

"I'm trying to add some adventure to your life."

"Why do I put up with this?" he questioned.

"I don't know. Possibly some hidden streak of perversity in your nature,"> Mulder suggested.

"You'd be the expert on perversity."

"Speaking of which . . . ."

"What are you doing now?"

"Guess what I found in the bathroom?"

"No."

"Massage oil." Mulder sounded triumphant. "*Someone* in this place is on the right track."

"Mulder."

"Yes?"

"If you think I'm going to sit here and listen to this, think again," Walter advised him.

"Seems a shame to waste it. Besides, I already took my clothes off. I can always call the room service guy back if you're not in the mood."

"You do and I'll call the hotel management and report you."

"Of course, you could always get on a plane and fly out here,"Mulder suggested. "I think National has flights every couple of hours."

"I'm not getting on a plane to come out there and prevent you from committing a felony with some mustard and an underage hotel employee."

"He wasn't underage. And it isn't a felony. It isn't even a crime in Nevada."

"How do you know he wasn't?"

"I think he was about 80. This oil smells like peaches. How do you feel about peaches?"

"That doesn't make it any better."

"No, but you have to admit it does add a certain air of surrealism."

"God knows your life needs that."

"It's Friday night, Walter."

"What does that have to do with it?"

"We could spend the weekend together,"> Mulder invited.

Skinner couldn't believe he was tempted. "Just how do you plan to explain my presence to Agent Scully?"

"Umm . . . I hadn't thought about that."

"I didn't think you had."

"You could hide in the closet."

"That would be redundant."

"I'll get you one of those rooms with a vibrating bed,"> Mulder said, as though he expected that to persuade his reluctant lover to jump on the next flight out of Washington.

"You'll be wasting your money."

Mulder sighed. "You're a difficult man to please, Walter."

"Try harder next time."

"You're going to hang up on me, aren't you?"

"What was your first clue? How much longer are you two going to be out there?"

"I don't know. Things don't seem to be happening very quickly. There's something odd about this investigation, Walter."

"That's unusual?"

"It's . . . boring."

"You have got to be kidding."

"No. I strongly suspect there is less here than meets the eye. In which case, I'll be home in a few days. On the other hand, it could be another couple of weeks. Will you be waiting for me?"

"No."

"'No' is not the answer I was expecting. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm going on vacation," he reminded.

"Oh yeah. I'm kind of disappointed by that. Can't you reschedule it?"

"If you think I'm going to swelter through another week in Washington while you gallivant around Las Vegas doing god-knows-what with a tube of massage oil and a geriatric bell-boy, think again. I've had this trip planned for a year."

"What if I get back while you're gone? Am I just supposed to sit there waiting for you decide to show up? That doesn't sound like much fun."

"Welcome to my world."

******

The end