A/N: Good chance that this'll be the final chapter - I had another scene planned, but the level of detail was excruciating, and it seemed gratuitous. So, this is it. It was a fun ride - hope you enjoyed it. All four of you.

"Jesus Christ, Bernadette, how many poor, innocent animals had to die to make this thing?" Adam spoke in half-admiration of the black leather of Bernadette's car's interior. He raised his eyebrows, Tick bundling into the other side's passenger door, collapsing into the seat and dumping his own and Bernadette's paraphernalia on the floor at his feet. "And how many rich animals did you have to fuck to get it?"

Bernadette ignored him, giving a coy smile from her position in the front passenger seat. That was another way in which the appeal of fancy cars was much like that of a nice pair of earrings or shoes; it was a talking point. A considerably more expensive talking point than either of the other two, but a talking point nonetheless. She saw the thing as almost being like a fashion accessory; it had been hers for over three years at this point, and it had barely 5,000 miles on it - this was perhaps a testament to the fact.

"You girls good to go?" Bob turned to the back of the car, addressing the pair of drag queens seated there. Tick was occupying about as much space as was humanly possible, his arms and legs spread out as he slouched in his seat. Adam was remarkably still sitting pretty; legs elegantly folded, and makeup somehow still almost totally intact.

"Ready when you are, Bob," Adam chimed, irritatingly chipper for how long they'd all been awake. "Everyone still alive?"

"Yes, but you won't be for much longer if you don't stop running your mouth," Bernadette snarked from the front seat, sighing heavily as she leaned back in her seat; Bob starting the car, before promptly making a complete arse of getting out of the parking space they were in. The light was almost blinding - half past five o'clock in the morning, after a miserable however many hours loitering around in various states of dress, undress, and pain (the latter for one of them more so than the others,) and Bernadette could probably speak for the others when she said that she was more than glad to be leaving it behind. Of course, she would have been far happier if the whole nasty business had never occurred in the first place, but it was too fucking late for that now. She leaned one arm against the window, massaging her temple with her middle and index fingers. "Christ almighty...I don't know what they gave me in there, but whatever it was, it's fucking with me; my head's splitting."

"The concussion would probably be worth taking into account," Tick groaned, hardly audible. "I mean, you knocked yourself out for the best part of fifteen minutes, and spewed at least twice between the Imperial and here."

"I suppose so," she huffed, placing her free hand on Bob's knee; he seemed too intently focused on driving and staying awake to engage in conversation. "Now what?"

"The fuck do you mean 'now what'?" Adam leaned over the top of her seat, his chin by her shoulder. "We go home, we get some sleep; we get on with tomorrow and pretend this never happened. Well, I do, anyway."

"I meant in the long run, you dickhead," she pushed him back onto the seat by means of shoving his face, 'tsk'ing under her breath at his idiocy.

"Well, you sit pretty and don't do anything stupid for however long you've got to do that for, then you get on with it and pretend this never happened," he smiled at her, thin-lipped with raised eyebrows.

"Well, what else can I do?" she nodded her agreement. "Besides pray that everything'll be back in working order in two months; then all will be hunky-dory. Hopefully."

"Hopefully," Tick repeated, almost wistful. "Because you're a bloody good performer, and a bloody good friend to boot; fuck knows where this place would be without you."

"Oh here we go," Adam rolled his eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully. "Kiss-arse."

"That's why I like him more than you," Bernadette turned, simpering, before sitting back again and flipping him the bird. "Well, at least if I do go, I went in battle, so to speak," she gave a slight laugh.

"Drag Valhalla," Tick chuckled, giving a nod of agreement.

"That'd be the irony of the century; Bernadette Bassinger, having paid her way for over three decades shaking her tush and drinking her way to an early grave in a pair of heels only goes and ends her career by falling the wrong way - in a pair of fucking heels." she gave a sort of nasally half-laugh. "Crazy night, huh?"

"I've had crazier," Adam pointed out; many things in mind. Getting the shit kicked out of him by Bernadette, the blonde having boozed herself halfway to a coma against that butch dyke in the bar in Broken Hill; the impromptu performance for that Aboriginal lot out in the sticks; Bob's local pub...oh dear Christ, Cynthia...they could all agree that to purge themselves of that particular memory would be a fine thing indeed; Broken Hill wasn't even to be mentioned - the second time e'd been on the receiving end of a punch that trip, e'd been blasted off his ass on far more than Stoli, and it had hurt far, far more - the memory as much as the bruises. That first night at Lassetter's when Benji's appearance in the audience had brought out Tick's inner fainting goat; then the one about a week after that when Bernadette had disappeared off the face of the planet within twenty minutes of coming off the stage, then come down for breakfast mellower than he had ever seen her, making eyes at Bob the whole time...he guessed that had been wild for her, at least. This one seemed tame by contrast; mostly to do with the fact that to the extent of his knowledge, the three of them hadn't even so much as gargled mouthwash the whole night. Well, Bernadette had clearly been on some crazy shit at one point, but it sounded as though she was already paying the price for it. Whatever; in his eyes, intoxication would have livened the whole night up.

"True," Bernadette half-smiled. "Still, I'll be damned if I forget this one any time soon."