From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 23 Sep 2002 21:12:05 -0000
Subject: Factoid by Lauren Belmont
Source: direct

Reply To: pipntook@earthlink.net


Title:  Factoid
Author:  Lauren Belmont
Summary:  Mulder's head is filled with what
would, under normal circumstances, be
considered mindless, useless, worthless, and
otherwise trivial information.
Rating:  PG-13
Classification:  challengefic
Keywords:  MSR, H
Spoilers:  Um, not really.  But if you know
every episode, I'd say you're good.
Disclaimer:  Mulder and Scully showed up on
my doorstep the other day looking for a new
job.  I couldn't leave them on the street
like that in good conscience.  They needed
food.  And a home.  And . . . well, let's
just say I let them do things that Fox never
even considered.  They're much happier now,
so you know what?  I'm not disclaiming
anything!  They're mine!  You gave them up,
Chris Carter, and it's your fault!  Nyah nyah
nyah!!
Feedback:  Did you know that the shortest
word in the English language to contain the
letters A, B, C, D, E, and F is 'Feedback?'
pipntook@earthlink.net
Author's notes:  Wow -- Lauren is writing
something that ISN'T serious and angst-
ridden?  Amazing!  Thanks for the challenge,
Sybs.  I had fun writing this one.  Oh -- and
I'm going with the assumption that Mulder and
Scully did in fact begin working together in
1992 and not 1993.

XxXxXxXxX

Factoid

XxXxXxXxX

Mulder's head is filled with what would,
under normal circumstances, be considered
mindless, useless, worthless, and otherwise
trivial information.  I say under normal
circumstances because when stuck in a rental
car for hundreds of miles, listening to
Mulder talk for hours can act as a wonderful
distraction from the highway.  Lately, he
seems to hate silence in the car, and as long
as I'm awake, he'll fill that silence with
whatever pops into his head.

For instance, did you know that slugs have
four noses?  That in the English language, no
word rhymes with orange, month, and purple?
That the first couple on television actually
shown in bed together was the Flintstones and
that the most frequently stolen book in the
United States is the Bible?  I bet you didn't
know that 45% of dollar bills you will ever
own have been in a stripper's g-string.

Mulder grinned when he told me that last one.
I just settled back against the passenger
seat and shook my head, trying to keep the
smile from my face.  We passed two more mile
markers.  Then he looked at me, his face
intensely serious, and said that
"skepticisms" is the longest word you can
type with alternating hands.  I laughed.  He
seemed pleased with himself.

After listening to him for hours at a time, I
suppose I shouldn't have been surprised the
night I learned another interesting tidbit.

Fox Mulder likes pillow talk.  A lot.  And as
someone whose previous lovers either fell
asleep without so much as a "goodnight" or
left after a wham, bam, thank-you Ma'am, this
was new for me.

I'm getting ahead of myself.  Let me back up.

XxXxXxXxX

Day one:  Tuesday, March 7, 2000

XxXxXxXxX

There's probably a book somewhere entitled
"How to Face Your Coworker and What to Say
When You Open the Door and See the Face of
the Person Who Had You Moaning, Screaming,
Gasping, and Shouting Prayers to Numerous
Deities the Night Before," but until I find
it, I'm on my own.

I knew I shouldn't have been nervous.  This
was Mulder.  This was my best friend.  My
partner.  My . . . lover.  It sounded
strange.  It sounded wonderful, too, and I
tested it on my tongue a few more times to
get used to it.

Still, I took an additional five minutes in
the shower, packed extra carefully, waited at
yellow lights, and stopped for a skim mocha
latte at Starbucks that morning.  As I sipped
my coffee and sat in a chair at a window that
overlooked the street, I tried to think of
something intelligent to say when I made it
downstairs.  Just saying good morning was a
project of its own.  There was the bitchy
"G'morning, Mulder," the chipper, talk show-
esque "Good MORNING, Mulder!" or the wanton
purr "Good morning . . . (a lowering of the
eyelids) . . . Mulder."

Well, the first one would give him the
impression that either I was in a bad mood or
it was that time of the month, neither of
which was accurate.  The second was just
wrong in so many ways, and the third would no
doubt end with my skirt up around my waist
and another bout of that screaming and
moaning I mentioned earlier, and while that
last one certainly had its benefits, Mulder
and I had an agreement.

I could of course, give the usual, let's-get-
down-to-business "Good morning, Mulder," but
that didn't seem quite right either.  I
sighed as I tossed the empty Styrofoam cup
into the nearest trashcan before getting back
in the car.

I had decided on a smile and a friendly
version of the greeting by the time I made it
down to the office, and of course, after all
the internal debate, it turned out he wasn't
even there.

While I waited for him, I checked to make
sure my briefcase held everything I needed
for our trip.  Five minutes later, Mulder
opened the door.  The plane tickets and file
were in his hand.  He was smiling, and it
looked as if he had never felt better.  I
relaxed a little.

"Hi," he said with a grin.  "You ready?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, let's go.  My stuff's in the car."

We transferred his bags from the trunk of his
car to the trunk of mine, and as I drove
toward the airport, Mulder jabbered on like a
monkey about the UFO sightings in Missouri.

I made a mental note to ask him where he
found that book because he seemed to be doing
just fine.

I'm going to speed through the case because,
well, it's unrelated to the pillow talk
issue, and since that's why I'm telling this
story in the first place, I really want to
get to the point.  Just know that it was mid-
afternoon by the time we had taken the
flight, driven to Columbia from the airport
in Saint Louis, and checked in with the local
police department who were more interested
with taking bets on the upcoming Missouri -
Nebraska game than talking with agents who
had flown in from D.C.  They seemed to know -
- and care -- as little about the case as I
did.

As we drove toward the dorm room of our
witness, Bryan Custer, Mulder told me that
before the sixties, men with long hair were
prohibited from Disneyland.  I didn't
comment.

Bryan Custer's roommate said he wouldn't be
around until the following morning.  No, he
didn't have his cell phone number -- no, he
didn't know where exactly he had gone.
Something about a "chic's party."

I said all this because it meant Mulder and I
now had over twelve hours with nothing to do.
And given recent events, that was a very,
very dangerous thing.

We got back in the car and sat for a moment,
and Mulder said nothing as he put the key in
the ignition.  I tapped my fingers together
and glanced over at Mulder's thighs.  They
looked great in Armani.  They looked better
out of them.

But we had a deal.

I cleared my throat.  "So Mulder," I said,
"what do you want to do now?"

He paused and met my eyes.  I remembered how
the shadows played over his face the night
before.  I remembered wiping the sweat from
his forehead afterwards, and I remembered how
he looked at me then, uncertain.  Trying to
wash away his doubts, I had smiled and kissed
him as my heart rate slowed, and he grinned
against my lips and rolled both of us onto
our sides.

"You should probably change the wording of
that," he said softly.  "Ask me what I
<think> we should do.  What I want to do is
entirely different."

I closed my eyes and sighed softly.  "Me
too."

Mulder's hand was resting in the space
between us, and I placed mine just alongside
it.  I could feel the heat of his skin
breaching the millimeter gap between us.

"Hungry?" he asked quietly.

Actually, I was.

While we ate fries at Steak 'n' Shake, I told
Mulder exactly what I thought of the UFO
sightings, which included a heated discussion
of the possible intoxication level of the
student who reported it to the authorities.

"We'll check it out tomorrow," he said,
shaking his head.

I just nodded, attention directed to the
streak of ketchup smeared on his lower lip.
I realized I had never gotten to say good
morning.

"Scully?"

I blinked and looked at him.

"Four more days," he said softly.

I blushed in all my Irish-glory and smiled
before reaching over and handing him a
napkin.  I motioned toward his mouth, and he
wiped away the ketchup.

"Yeah.  Four days," I said.

XxXxXxXxX

<<"Hi Mulder, what are you doing here?"

"Have you eaten yet?  I brought Chinese."

"It's nine at night, of course I've eaten.
What --"

"Come on, you know you've got room for an egg
roll."

"We have a flight to catch in the morning, I
don't think -- Mulder, I moved the plates,
they're in the second cabinet from the left
now -- look, you know you're welcome here
anytime, but we need to get up early."

"I won't stay long.  Where'd you move the
wine glasses?"

"Mulder, you brought wine?  Um, the cabinet
right in front of you.  No, the other one."

"I got it, you go sit down."

"Alright, I'm going.  But what's the
occasion?  Seriously."

"It's March 6th."

"Yes . . .your point?  Oh!  That."

"Yes, 'that.'  Scoot over."

"It's just that, well, we've never done
anything to celebrate it.  Yeah, I guess I'll
have an egg roll, thank you.  I've never
thought of having egg rolls and wine
together, I must say."

"Live dangerously."

"When don't we?"

"True."

"A toast?"

"Sure."

"Another eight years?"

"Sounds great, Scully.">>

XxXxXxXxX

Day two:  Wednesday, March 8th, 2000

XxXxXxXxX

So about that case.

It turned out to be a new low, even for us.
After waking up Bryan Custer at nine in the
morning who greeted us with, and I believe
the exact words were: "Jesus Christ, do you
know what fucking time it is?" we learned
that Mulder's UFO was a story the student had
told to some friends who were high just to
see how they'd react to it.  One of these
young, pot-smoking citizens had a father who
happened to be a member of the police
department.  Officer Jim Donnelly, a rather
eccentric figure who liked to watch Mystery
Science Theater and Close Encounters of the
Third Kind, learned of the alleged UFO and
called the Bureau.

Mulder argued that there was nothing wrong
with the man's taste in television and
cinema, and after eight years, I knew when to
pick my battles.  I was more uneasy with the
fact that Officer Donnelly didn't seem the
least bit concerned when we told him about
his son's drug habits.

We had sorted out everything with the police
department and had finished the paperwork by
four.  While Mulder called in an update to
Skinner, I called the airline and learned
that the next convenient flight to Washington
was the following morning.  We would have to
stay in a Saint Louis motel if we wanted to
catch the flight.  This meant another hour
and a half drive with the king of trivia.

I've come to an understanding about Mulder
and me.  We mix like mayonnaise and ketchup
sometimes.  We get along great, but there are
only so many times you feel like having
Thousand Island.

Driving back to Saint Louis was one of the
non-Thousand Island moments.  Mulder pouted
in the passenger seat during the first half
hour because I had asked why he hadn't
checked the validity of the case before
flying out.  He spit seeds out the window.  I
really think he tries to hit speed limit
signs, but he's never admitted to it.

We pass three billboards in a row for the
same car company when he speaks for the first
time in half an hour.  "Scully?"

"Yes?"

"Do I ever annoy you?"

I wish I could say my immediate response was
"no," but the truth was that I had a think
about it.  There were times I wanted to slap
the man upside the head, particularly during
cases like this one, but if he was talking
being with him in general, then the answer
was no.

Unsure of which he meant, I told him both.

"You just . . . when I talk to you in the
car, you never say anything back.  And if it
didn't bother you --" he drifted off,
sounding hurt, and shook his head.  "Never
mind.  Forget it."

He turned back to the window, and I looked at
him with wide eyes.  He thought I didn't
care.  I had just assumed he liked talking; I
never would have guessed . . .

After bringing my attention back to the road
ahead of us, I took a breath.  "Did you know
that the flush toilet was invented by Thomas
Crapper?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mulder
look at me.  "Yes."

"How?"

"You told me once."

Oh.  That's right.  "Well, bulletproof vests,
fire escapes, windshield wipers, and laser
printers were all invented by women."

For the record, I don't remember where I
learned that.  Mulder didn't answer right
away, and I felt my palms start to sweat, but
I glanced over and saw a small smile on his
face.  His hand started to reach for my knee,
but he stopped and retreated, remembering.

I shut my eyes for a second and regretted
every mentioning that stupid deal.

"It's a start, but it doesn't beat dollar
bills and g-strings, Scully," he said.

For the rest of the ride, we were both fine
with Thousand Island.

Now, most women love roses, and while I admit
that I'm one of them, they have become too
much of a standard.  Your anniversary?  Buy
her a dozen roses.  Her birthday?  How about
some roses?  She passed her MCAT?  Hm, maybe
only half a dozen; they're expensive, after
all.  Oops, big fight?  A few roses should
cover it.

Don't get me wrong; roses are beautiful.
They smell great and look wonderful in a vase
with some baby's breath.  It's just that
whenever one of my previous lovers bought
them for me, part of me felt disappointed.
Just once, I would like to receive a book, a
home cooked meal, or something other than a
dozen red or white flowers.

Skipping to the point, there were lilacs on
my dresser when I got out of the shower.

He must have come in while I was washing up
and getting ready for dinner.  I'd left my
side of the connecting door unlocked and open
just a crack -- a small enough crack so I
wasn't tempted, but large enough so Mulder
would know I wasn't shutting him out.

I actually laughed when I saw them while
pulling on my skirt.  It was just a little
bunch of purple flowers growing around a twig
no longer than my hand.  I picked it up by
the end of the stem, brushed my fingertips
across it, and breathed in the flowers' scent
as I stood half-naked with my shampoo lying
forgotten on the bed.

"Scully, you ready?"  Mulder asked as he
pushed open the door.

There are only so many ways to cover yourself
from the waist up when someone comes into
your room unannounced.  Something always
manages to hang out no matter how intricately
your arms and hands weave themselves.  But I
had lilacs this time.  They blocked one
breast very nicely.  I felt like Botticelli's
Venus.  Or maybe that was just wishful
thinking.

By the time I remembered that it no longer
mattered whether I was blocked from Mulder or
not, he had cleared his throat and looked
down at the floor.

"Sorry," he said, turning back for the door.
"I should have knocked."

"Wait."

He looked up and fought to keep his eyes on
my face.  I let my arms drop another half
inch and saw him swallow.  My heart started
beating double-time.

"Mulder, it's the beginning of March.  Where
on earth did you find lilacs?"  I asked while
motioning with my chin toward the flowers
pressed against my chest.

He walked toward me, all six glorious feet of
his suit-clad self.  I felt my knees lock.
"Scully," he said, and I shivered as he
leaned forward, "you of all people should
remember that you just have to know where to
look."

"You didn't answer my question," I said,
quieter than I had intended.  I stared at his
shoulder while he brushed his nose through
the hair that had fallen over my cheek.  I
was pretty sure a good-sized love bite was
hidden beneath that t-shirt.  "Mulder --"

"I remember the deal perfectly.  I'm not
actually touching you," he said, as he
continued to -- what was he doing anyway?
Sniffing my hair?  I am a very articulate
woman in any situation with only two
exceptions: when I'm drunk, or when a man --
preferably a very skilled man -- is trying to
get me in bed.  And Mulder definitely has
some talent.

"Well we didn't quite define, oh," I dropped
my hands another inch as he softly blew on
that one spot behind my ear.  I forgot that I
had told him about that trick.  "We uh, I
mean, didn't quite define all the, um,
varieties of touching and uh, wow, okay . .
."

Mulder chuckled and backed away with a smirk.
"Missed a spot," he said.  I looked down and
readjusted myself.

The bastard actually winked before turning on
his heel and going back to his room.

"Is half an hour okay?" he called out.

"It's fine."

I filled one of the glasses in the bathroom
with water from the tap and placed the lilac
stem inside.  I set the makeshift vase on the
bedside table.  The flowers leaned a bit
precariously to one side, but the water would
help it a little.

Dinner was nice.  We found some little
Italian restaurant that specialized in
meatballs and each ordered it.  They were
delicious but messy, and we took turns
motioning where globs of sauce had stuck to
each other's faces.  It felt great to laugh.
It felt great to talk about things other than
the cases and the FBI and the chance that
someone would see us who we'd rather
wouldn't.

I went into Mulder's room that night, and for
what reason, I'm not quite sure.  He was
lying in bed with hands behind his head,
watching a rerun of Cheers on TV in jeans and
a white undershirt.  When he glanced over at
me, I lost myself for a minute, wondering if
the FBI would ever change their dress code.
I ultimately decided it would probably be a
bad idea because that meant other women would
see him like this besides me.

"I just wanted to remind you that the flight
leaves at ten," I said quietly.

He nodded.

I nodded.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

I wanted to thank him for the lilacs.  I
wanted to tell him he wasn't an annoyance.  I
wanted to jump him right there, get another
look at those thighs, and forget about any
stupid deal I had made with him in an attempt
to save face.  I wanted to say that I loved
him.

"Nothing.  Just goodnight, I guess," I said.

"Goodnight."

XxXxXxXxX

<<"Scully?"

"Hm?"

"Don't fall asleep on me."

"It's the wine.  It makes me sleepy."

"You didn't have very much."

"It's also after ten, and you know how long
today was."

"It wasn't my fault Skinner had a faulty
stress ball."

"Do you think we cleaned up all the sand?"

"It was an accident."

"I know.  Mulder, has it really been this
long?"

"Eight years?  Yeah.  Any regrets?"

"There are things I wish I hadn't gone
through, but I don't regret anything.  You?"

"There are things I wish I hadn't put you
through."

"Oh, Mulder --"

"I know, I know."

"This fire was a good idea."

"I try.  I'm just glad you had matches this
time."

"My Indian Guide at work."

"Scully, we don't do this enough."

"No we don't."

"You're tired."

"A little."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No.  Just . . . stay."

"Alright."

"Mulder?  Come here."

"Okay.">>

XxXxXxXxX

Day three:  Thursday, March 9th, 2000

XxXxXxXxX

I woke up in the dark at four in the morning
and couldn't fall back to sleep.

He was sleeping when I pushed open the door
with a creak.  Mulder was snoring softly,
lying with sheets in a jumbled heap that left
his arms and legs peeking out from under the
covers.  The bottom of his pajama pants had
bunched up to his knees, and his shirt was
twisted.  The toes of his left foot flexed
slightly as he dreamed.  He looked beautiful.

I tiptoed over to the edge of the bed and
slowly lowered myself down on the mattress so
I wouldn't wake him.  I wanted to watch for a
few minutes longer.  His eyes darted beneath
his eyelids, and he muttered something that
sounded like "mushrooms" at one point that
made me smile.

I must have lain there for ten minutes before
I used the lilac branch that I had carried in
here.  Reaching forward, I placed the petals
against his cheek and slowly traced them down
his jaw, careful not to scrape the actual
branch against his skin.  He furrowed his
brow in his sleep and rolled away from me.

Oh, we couldn't have that.  Not at all.

I slid the flowers across and over his neck,
and he finally woke up when I reached his
ear.  I heard the sharp intake of breath, and
he swatted around his ear as if expecting a
fly.  I chuckled.

"Scully?" he asked blearily, rolling over and
rubbing his eyes.  "What time is it?"

"Not sure," I admitted.  I ran my fingers
over the flowers in my hand.  "I was just
thinking," I said.

He yawned.  "About what?"

I didn't answer him, instead brining the
flowers back to his face.  I ran them over
his nose and brushed them over his lips in
place of mine.

Mulder looked at me, troubled.  "We've still
got two days, you know," he said hesitantly.

"Well that's what I was thinking about.  Two
days.  Forty-eight hours.  Two thousand,
eight hundred and eighty minutes.  It sounds
like a very long time, don't you think?"

Mulder took the lilacs from me.  I held my
breath as he brushed the blossoms over my
face and down my neck.  He toyed with the
neckline on my pajamas and slid the flowers
across my collarbone.  I imagined his lips on
me.  All over me -- every blessed inch.  I
imagined my lips on him and remembered how
salty his skin had tasted, how he had hummed
when I latched onto his shoulder.

"And, um," I said, trying to continue, "I
realized that we've never been good at
following rules, have we?"

His lips quirked, and his eyes started to
sparkle.  "No we haven't."

"So I guess what I'm saying is that if you
don't kiss me in the next three seconds --"

He didn't even let me finish the sentence.  I
guess that was a good thing -- as soon as I
was pressed between him and the mattress, I
couldn't even remember my own name, much less
what I had been planning to say.

XxXxXxXxX

<<"Scully?  You awake?"

"Mm hm."

"I didn't . . . I just want you to know that
this wasn't why I came over tonight."

"I know."

"Scully?"

"Hm?"

"What's your favorite flower?"

"What?"

"I asked which flower is your favorite."

"I dunno . . ."

"You know you have a favorite."

"'Kay . . . lilacs."

"Lilacs?  I think lilacs are actually a bush"

They smell good."

"We had lilacs in our yard when I was growing
up, actually.  They were by the windows, and
they made the living room smell great in the
spring.  My mom cut off branches and put them
in a vase in the kitchen.  Sam would always
break off a branch, tuck it behind her ear,
and pretend she was in the islands somewhere.
You asleep?"

"Almost."

"I need to leave early tomorrow.  I just
thought I'd warn you."

"'Kay."

"Do you think Skinner's going to miss the
stress ball?  It looked an awfully lot like
him.  It needed some hair."

"Maybe."

"I wonder if he bought it or if someone gave
it to him.  I feel bad for not getting one
for him as a Christmas present before."

"Hm."

"Do you think we should get him a new one?"

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"I think, I mean with this case coming up, we
shouldn't, you know, do anything while in the
field."

"Oh."

"Just so we can concentrate."

"Oh.  I see."

"'Kay?"

"So no touching or anything like that."

"It's only four days."

"Okay.  Four days then."

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"It's going to be a long four days for me
too.">>

XxXxXxXxX

The sun was starting to rise.  I could see it
through the crack in the drapes.

I had snuggled securely between his chest and
his arm so that we were in a little bubble of
warmth underneath the blankets.  I ran my
foot up and down his calf lazily and tried to
remember what times the afternoon flights
left for D.C. because there was no way I was
getting out of this bed any time soon.

The lilacs had been squashed, but it was a
small sacrifice for absolutely amazing, mind-
blowing, fantastic, and unbelievable sex.  I
planned on packing the flowers for the trip
home anyway.  Maybe I would dry them out and
save them somehow.  Anything seemed like a
good idea -- I was radiating in post-love-
making glow.

Behind me, Mulder was talking again.

"Did you know that the average person has sex
more than three thousand times?" he asked
before pressing his lips to the back of my
neck.

"Hm," I replied.  I felt too lethargic to
answer, and as I've mentioned, pillow talk
has never been my strong point.

 "I don't know about you, but I have some
catching up to do."

"Mm hm."

"Did you know that dolphins are the only
other species to have sex for fun?"

"Mm hm."

"No you didn't."

"Mm hm," I repeated, rolling over and tucking
myself under his chin.  He had said something
about dolphins.  That's all I knew, and I
knew a little bit about dolphins.  Mulder
tightened his arms around me, and I wondered
what it would be like to spend every night
like this.  Excitement tingled up my spine.
This was no longer some idle fantasy -- this
was real.  This was Mulder.  This was me.

Naked.

I grinned against his collarbone.

"The medical term for a hicky is 'passion
purpura,'" Mulder said.

I opened my eyes and looked up at him.  "I
actually knew that one," I said.

He raised his eyebrows.  "Really?"

"Yeah.  Oh, what was her name . . . Gloria
Reece and I looked it up during med school."
I shrugged and pressed back against him.

"Your tuition at work, hm?"

I chuckled and ran my hand across the soft
skin of his lower back.  He hummed in
approval, so I did it again.

"Did you know that the tongue is the
strongest muscle in the body?"  I asked.

"Yup.  Did you know that it's impossible to
lick your elbow?"

"Interesting.  But you took care of that for
me tonight, anyway."

He laughed when I smirked at him.  "True."

The next flight left at four, I remembered
suddenly.  Four would be perfect.  We could
stay in bed until noon, get room service,
break our two-day rule again, and I could
listen to Mulder ramble on about random facts. . .

I propped myself on my elbow to look down at
him.  Mulder blinked and stopped rubbing my
arm.

"You know why I never say much when we're in
the car?"  I asked softly.  He shook his
head.  I ran my fingers across his cheek and
smiled.  "It's just because I like listening
to you talk."

"Oh," he said.  He looked like a kid who had
just learned that the secret locked closet at
the end of the hall only had a broom inside.

I kissed him gently.  "Keep talking, Mulder."

I watched him think.  "Well, pigs have
orgasms that last for thirty minutes."

"I don't think I needed to know that," I
said, lying back down.

"But don't you feel smarter now that you do?"

"Actually, I'm wondering who decided to study
it."

"Good point."

"Seriously -- what scientist woke up one
morning and decided to time the average
orgasm of pig?"

Mulder grinned at me.  "Hey, Scully."

"What?"

He cupped my cheek with one hand.  "You're
talking."

"I know.  How am I doing?"

"Perfectly."

XxXxXxXxX

end

The Haven 5W challenge requirements:

Who:  Mulder and Scully
What:  Their first time
Where: Location
When:  When did it happen?
Why:  Premeditated or spontaneous
Muldertoes
Scully being vocal
The Mulder lip
A wink