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"Jim!" The surprised urgency in the voice forced him away from the warm body he was resting against. He rolled to his knees, went for his gun, felt empty air were it should have been. It took a second for him to realize that not only was he not wearing a gun but no pants, shirt or anything else. He glanced over at his partner. Artie was stretched out on his side, equally naked, smiling at his partner's swift over-reaction. Jim relaxed, sat down. They were in their train, and Artie was with him so it couldn't be all that bad. He looked down again, touched his head, surprised that he didn't have a hangover. "That must have been some party. I wonder how we got back here? The girls...." Names eluded him. "Jim, I think you had better take a good look around." It must have been near dawn since there was enough light for Jim to see the blush crept up his partner's cheeks. Alert blue eyes scanned the room. There was only him and Artie in the stove warmed train, a half-full bottle of wine on the table, clothes scattered across the floor, and a dark, damp spot on the carpet. It wasn't blood. Jim's eyes went very wide, mouth dropping open. Memories of resting against a warm body filtered back to him. "We...we couldn't...we...had to have been drunk." It was obvoiusly taking all of Artie's control not to laugh. "On half a bottle of wine?" Jim glanced away, grabbed for his pants, flushing. Artie's amusement vanished. His partner's embarrassment was tangible, tinged with guilt. Having been in the theatre Artie had grown use to certain accepted perversions. Worrying about it certainly wasn't going to help anyway. He watched West hurriedly dress admiring, as usual, the man's grace. Once Jim was dressed, and obviously more at ease, Artie stood, picked up the bottle off the table. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Still red about the cheeks Jim turned to him. "What is?" "The wine must have been drugged. I mean, we've been naked together before, and we've been drunk together before but we've never been anything else together before so...." Jim snatched the bottle from his hand. "Damn. Who?" They took one look at each other. "Loveless." Artie took the bottle back. "Let's start with where we bought the wine." Jim opened the etched glass door, pushed his partner in, laughing, "I would have never believed we could catch Loveless that easy." "Would you have been guarding the door with four lovely ladies in your bed?" Artie asked. He pushed up the nearest window and emptied the last of the wine bottle out it. "His mistake was in violating the first rule of chemist and conjurors - never sample your own stuff." Jim had flopped down on the couch, holding his sides. "That one blonde had to have been 6'1. And the other four...." he broke up. "At the trial we should point out that he owes us." Jim looked puzzled at his partner's statement, "By the time those girls had finished with him there would have been nothing left." "But what a way to go!" Jim smiled. He pointed to the empty wine bottle, "Was that the last of it?" Artie nodded, sat down next to his partner. "Threw the rest in the furnace at the building, including the written formula." They both leaned back, long minutes going by in companionable silence. Artie stood up, opened a new bottle of brandy, poured them each a glass, sat back down, "At least there are no lasting effects to the chemical." Jim said, very matter-of-factly, "Too bad one of the side effects is partial amnesia." Artie's head came up, Jim meet his stare, added with a smile, "Might have been interesting." He stood up. "Good night, Artie." After a quick gulp to recover his voice Artie said, "Good night, Jim." When the door behind him closed Artie reached into his coat pocket and eased out a black velvet case. He opened it, touched the three vials with a whimsical smile. If he had read the formula correctly he had enough for about fifteen doses. He was beginning to get the crazy idea that he might not need many of them.