Some people gave their patients gifts. At least, Archie thought some people gave their patients gifts. He didn't really know for sure – surely, though, somewhere out there, a therapist had once given a guest something for Christmas. Granted, this wasn't Christmas ... and granted, he wasn't exactly looking at hot cocoa mugs or a season box set of Star Trek ...

"Sir?" asked the oh-so-helpful Wal-Mart clerk. "Can I help you?"

"Just a minute," Archie said. He furrowed his brow and stared at the swimsuits. There were racks and racks of them – most of them involving bras – but there were precious few swim trunks, and he had no clue what size Gold was. Finally, with a prayer to God (and to Vishnu as well for good measure), he picked one out and paid for it.

Thirty dollars for a swimsuit.

By crickets, this session had better be good.

"Try it on."

"No."

"Mr. Gold, please –"

"Archie," said Gold with a thin veneer of patience and calm, "there is nowhere to try it on in."

Certain that couldn't be right, Archie looked around. He held the swimsuit in his hands and Gold stood before him, still fully clothed in his coat and scarf, looking more than a little irritated. A quick back-and-forth with Archie's head told him what he'd hoped wouldn't be true. They were surrounded by nothing but pool-lights and bleachers.

Sheepish and shrunken, he turned back to Gold. "You could go out in the hall...?"

"Dr. Hopper," said Gold, "we are standing beside a pool in the local high school. It is February. School is in session. I'm not changing out in the hall."

"But –"

"If you wanted me to wear a swimsuit, you should have just told me," Gold snapped. "Then I could've been prepared, you wouldn't have had to smuggle me here, and the swimsuit wouldn't be several sizes too large."

Archie looked forlornly at the swimsuit.

"And a speedo," Gold added with distaste. He stared out at the high school pool, wrinkling his nose. "Why are we here, anyway? Why a pool?"

"You like swimming," said Archie, half-whining and half defensive.

"Oh, do I?" asked Gold waspishly. "I suppose you would know."

Archie glared at him. "... You don't know that it's several sizes too big. Maybe it's ... maybe it's snug; you don't know!"

"It doesn't matter, because I won't be wearing it."

A staring contest was begun. Gold's eyes were narrow; Archie's were wide and baleful. Finally, Archie turned away in disgust (mostly at himself; this really hadn't been planned well) and shoved the swimsuit into Gold's hands. He very deliberately turned around and placed a hand over his eyes. A minute passed in silence.

"What are you doing?" came Gold's voice from behind him. Archie continued staring at the darkness of his palm.

"I'm looking away."

"For what?"

"So you can put on your swimsuit," Archie said. He heard an exasperated noise.

"For the love of –"

"It's your therapy, Gold!"

"We're in the middle of a school!"

"No one's watching," said Archie stubbornly. He started to gesture with his arms, realized that would take his hand off his eyes, and settled for a strange jerk of the shoulders instead. He could feel the heat of Gold's glare. "Would you just change already?" he asked.

"I'm not taking off my underwear in the middle of a high school."

"Gold, I can and will send you back to jail."

There was a long pause. After about thirty seconds, Archie heard the awkward, hesitant shuffle of clothing. Not quite the removal of clothing – not yet – but shuffling.

"Where am I supposed to put my clothes?" asked Gold. "Supposing I do change into the swimsuit."

"Just put 'em on the bleachers," said Archie dismissively.

"And wear the speedo?"

"Yes."

He heard more rumpling.

"I'll just wear my boxers," Gold muttered.

You're going to have a very uncomfortable walk home if you do, Archie almost said. Then he decided it was acceptable for therapists to be passive-aggressive, and he just didn't say anything. There was the sound of clothing being removed, about as fast as a crippled man can do it, and then Gold was folding them, placing his coat and suit on the bleachers where hundreds of teenage butts had sat – no doubt rubbing assne all over it – and –

Shuddering, Gold wondered if it was acceptable to just put his clothes on the floor. He straightened his boxers out, glad he had worn the silk magenta ones instead of the ones with the little money signs. Looking back at Archie – who was still facing away, hand over eyes – he cleared his throat.

"Decent?" Archie asked.

"Partially naked, actually," Gold said.

Archie turned around. It was time to start the session.