"Boy, is it ever good to be home," sighed Winston Zeddemore as he turned the key in the ignition to shut off Ecto-1, and the other three nodded in complete agreement. There had been times in the past couple of days when the four Ghostbusters had doubted they would ever see home again.

The 'short bust upstate' Ray had proclaimed would be great fun had turned into a horror story of a demon complete with a cult of nasty worshippers who had resorted to taking potshots at the Ghostbusters. Egon had plunged to cover behind some rocks and landed wrong, breaking his little finger, a minor irritant that brought with it pain all out of proportion to the seriousness of the injury. A bullet had plucked at Peter's sleeve, causing him to let out a yell that, for a moment, led the others to believe he'd been shot. Ray had come close enough to a bullet to necessitate diving headfirst into a pile of brush that had concealed a hidden strip of barbed wire. The wire had wrapped itself around his forearm and had not only needed to be cut free but which had wound up requiring antibiotics to prevent infection. Fortunately Ray was current with his tetanus injections. Egon's finger was put into a protective splint, and he tried to pretend like nothing was wrong, but it was obviously painful.

Then, even as the sheriff was locking away the cultists and the guys were busting the demon, Ecto-1 had developed a problem with its starter, and it couldn't be fixed without a part that no one had in the little hamlet of Gibbsburg. While they waited the better part of a day for someone to drive into Albany to get one, two little old ladies had come forward to claim their house was haunted and to offer their life savings if the Ghostbusters would only help them out. Not even Peter's sneaking fondness for little old ladies would allow them to do the job for free, but none of the guys, not even the protesting Peter, really wanted to take all their money, even when the ghost proved nastier than expected and nearly brained Winston with a vase. They wound up accepting a token payment and a home cooked dinner that proved the best part of the entire trip.

After that, they were prepared to depart the next morning when Egon had accidentally knocked his glasses on the floor while reaching for them with his bandaged hand. Peter hadn't noticed them fall and he had stepped on them and broken the frames.

"Peter!"

"Well, I didn't know you were keeping them on the floor, Egon," Peter had defended himself, bending to snatch them up. "They're fine anyway. Oops," he added as one of the lenses slipped out and he caught it before it could drop. "The lenses are intact. Sorry about the frames, big guy." He passed them back in a hurry.

Egon eyed the broken frames regretfully. They were useless to Egon, who refused to ride blind back to New York. He had forgotten to pack his spare pair of glasses, a fact which must have irritated him mightily and made him snap at Peter no less than four times, even though he had to know it had been an accident. Peter donned a saintly expression and put up with it. He wasn't prepared to pick on Egon today, of all days, or at least not very much.

They went to two different optical places, one in Gibbsburg, which did not, of course, have what they needed, and one in Albany, which did. The only frames that Egon's lenses fit were exactly like Egon's broken ones--except they were electric blue.

"Gee, Egon, they even match your eyes," Peter had said wickedly as Egon settled the new frames reluctantly on his nose. When Spengler tried to give him a haughty look, the frames promptly slid down the way his old ones did.

"Hmm, we can't have that," insisted the optician, shaking his head. "Let me make an adjustment."

"They're fine," Egon replied, shoving them hastily into place.

"Nonsense. I'd be ashamed of myself if I let you walk out of here with them in that condition. You know, you really ought to consider plastic lenses. They're much lighter and you'd be more comfortable." He snatched the glasses away again and vanished into a back room while Peter whistled cheerfully and Winston and Ray exchanged grins. Then he was back, settling the glasses into place again, and this time they didn't slide--at all. Egon leaned quite far forward to test them, but they stayed anchored securely in place.

Peter couldn't help noticing all the way home how Egon would reach up periodically to push his glasses into place and catch himself, looking slightly disappointed as if he missed the gesture. Maybe he used it as a deliberate pause, a chance to give himself a moment to think. Peter was positive the minute he got home to his spare pair the blue-framed glasses would vanish without a trace.

Ray's arm was sore, but he was evidently feeling much better because he was bright and excited all the way home, bouncing around like a child with a secret, which reminded Peter of the secret the two of them shared with Winston. Peter had to catch the occultist's eye a time or two and shake his head in warning. Much more of that and Egon would be certain to notice and figure it out.

But they made it home safely, and Egon heaved a huge sigh of relief as he got out of Ecto. Peter had been waiting all the way home for Janine's reaction when she saw Egon's blue glasses and bandaged finger--the secretary had been known to fuss over him for hours over even slighter injuries than this--and had 'brightened' Egon's journey home by reminding the physicist what he had in store from her. Her idea of tender, loving care was bound to be widely divergent from Egon's.

Except that Janine was nowhere in sight. It was early Monday afternoon, long past her starting time, but she wasn't here.

"That's funny," said Ray, bounding over to Janine's desk to see if her purse was there. She might be upstairs for some reason. But there was no purse in sight. He checked out the answering machine. "Hey, we've got a lot of calls."

"They can wait until we unpack and catch some serious naptime," Peter replied with a yawn, sniffing the air. There was a faintly unpleasant odor permeating the place as if some food had gone bad. He tried to remember the last moments before setting off for Gibbsburg. If anything had been left out, the guys were sure to blame him for it. He always got the rap for that kind of thing. Maybe it would be smart to head upstairs quickly and put any offending substances down the disposal before the guys could ride him. "I'm gonna haul our stuff upstairs," he volunteered with deliberate virtue, and grabbed their overnight bags out of the back of Ecto while Egon favored him with a suspicious grin. As Ray sat down at the phone to play back their messages, Peter started upstairs.

The smell was stronger here, but he couldn't find anything on the dining table or in the kitchen to account for it. Following his nose, he headed across the second floor and up the spiral stairs to the third floor. The smell grew in intensity as he went, and it was definitely nasty. Peter wrinkled his nose as he poked his head around the corner of the lab. The smell came from here. Something in a row of glass dishes looked black and slimy and unappealing. Nearly gagging, Peter flung open the lab windows and retreated downstairs quickly.

"Yo, Egon," he bellowed as he trotted down the stairs. "I think you've got--"

"Not now, Peter," Egon said, cutting him off with an abrupt gesture. He pointed at the answering machine where Janine's voice was emerging.

"--and I think I'll be back on Tuesday," she said in a voice that held none of her usual spirit. "He's gonna be okay, but Aunt Mitzi needs me to stay with her. You can reach me at--" she gave a telephone number, "if anything comes up."

"Her uncle had a heart attack, Peter," Ray said seriously. "Right after we left. Gosh, that's terrible. We weren't even here for her."

"She says he'll be all right," said Egon practically, though he, too, looked regretful. Although he resisted their secretary's more amorous advances, if anything upset her he was always the first one to offer her support and comfort. "Still, I think we should telephone her to let her know we've returned in case she needs anything."

"Before you do that, big guy," Peter cut in, "I think you should check out the lab. Something died up there and it's pretty ripe. I'm not going upstairs again until you fumigate the place, even if it means moving to a hotel for the night."

Egon's face changed abruptly. "Not my mushroom cultures!" he blurted out in horror, and he plunged up the stairs three at a time.

"Really bad?" Winston asked.

"Like a morgue in a heat wave," Peter replied, grimacing.

"But Janine was taking care of..." Ray's voice trailed off. Her uncle's heart attack would certainly come first with the secretary, no matter how much she cared about Egon. She had probably forgotten her promise to check on Egon's experiment every day and perform certain tasks for him to maintain it. "Oh, gosh. Egon fussed about that experiment the whole time we were in Gibbsburg."

"He sure did," Winston said with a grimace, remembering. "He was really proud of this one."

"Not any more. You can even smell it down here," said Peter. "I'm not sure I'll ever be able to smell anything else again. How about we open all the windows--and I wouldn't say no to some room freshener."

Ray did it, worrying the whole time. "Poor Egon, it's not fair. And on his birthday, too." He brightened. "But when we have the party tonight, he'll feel a lot better. Wait till he sees what we got him." He began to smile in anticipation. "Maybe we can help him set up the experiment again, too."

Egon came downstairs again in considerable silence, bearing a can of Lysol which he sprayed around lightly. "It's gone," he said flatly, glaring at Peter to prevent him from making one of his frivolous remarks. Egon wasn't feeling frivolous. He had planned an article for a certainly scholarly publication and now a new version of the experiment wouldn't be ready in time for the deadline the magazine had given him. Disposing of the foul-smelling remains of his experiment, he had bumped his injured finger and it throbbed painfully now.

"How long do you think it'll take for it to be livable up there, Spengs?" Peter asked, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He looked like he was encouraging Egon to see the funny side of it, but Egon saw nothing remotely humorous in wasted effort and missed chances, and he shot a stern glance at Peter.

Peter held up his hands in a defensive gesture. "Hey, I was only asking. I have to live here, you know."

Ray jumped in quickly. "I'm sorry about your experiment, Egon. Can I help you set up a replacement?"

"No. I've missed the deadline," Egon replied without encouragement. Ray's face fell.

"I assume none of you has bothered to put the demon in the containment unit," Egon continued coldly. "I should have known better than to expect anything practical from any of you." That the words were unfair he knew as soon as he spoke but he didn't take them back.

Ray looked like he'd been kicked. "Well, gosh, Egon, we had a lot to think about," he defended himself. "I just called Janine. She says her uncle is doing a lot better and she'll be back to work tomorrow."

"Yeah, man, and I don't want you dumping on her about the experiment," Winston added, rather sternly. "The poor girl has enough on her mind without feeling guilty about that."

Egon hadn't planned to say anything to Janine about it at all, but the looks on all three of his friends' faces indicated they thought he meant to take her to task on it the minute she walked in the door. "I'm glad you consider me so sensitive," he said and turned before they could reply to grab the offending trap out of Ecto and push past them to the basement steps.

"Nice to see you in such a good mood, Egon." Peter's wry voice followed him. Egon stiffened his shoulders and continued without responding. Not even Ray said anything to reproach the psychologist. Wondering when he had changed from the victim to the bad guy, Egon slammed the demon into the containment unit with more force than was necessary and took himself into the basement lab instead of returning upstairs.

This was turning into a thoroughly unpleasant day.

To make it worse, it was his birthday. He hadn't thought of that when they'd awakened this morning, and the irritating need to seek out the optician had pushed any more pleasant thoughts to the back of his mind. Finding out about Janine's uncle had been further bad news, and then on top of that, the ruin of his experiment had served to put the cap on a truly horrible day. His birthday. Though Egon didn't take the same childlike pleasure in birthdays that Ray did, he did enjoy them, especially because there was a kind of one-upmanship nature to their celebrations. Either a surprise party or a special present, but some kind of surprise served to make each birthday unique. From the unfair attitude of the guys, it was likely they'd feed his birthday cake to Slimer and toss his presents in the East River.

Not that it mattered. He was hardly in the birthday mood, after all. His frustrations drove him to spend hours in the lab, working on piddling little experiments and tightening all the connections on the spare proton pack he found there. Passing a mirror on one wall, he noticed himself still wearing the offending blue-framed glasses and he paused to glare at his reflection. He went over to the desk drawer and opened it hopefully. He'd had a spare pair of glasses down here once. They weren't here now. Naturally.

The guys left him alone, too, which added to his sense of ill-usage. Surely one of them must come to check on him, to make sure all was well, even if they used the demon as an excuse. He hadn't been that bad, surely. It had been them, assuming he meant to take Janine to task over the experiment, when it was obviously something that could not have been prevented. He frowned, annoyed with them and with himself, and the throbbing in his broken finger didn't do anything to improve his mood. Petty frustrations were far harder to take than large ones.

It was several hours later that he finally heard footsteps on the stairs and he at once pretended to be very busy. It was probably Ray, come to fuss over him a little. Ray was good at that.

"So, Spengs, you gonna starve yourself?"

It was Peter. He looked up in surprise. Venkman had one of those grins on his face that always meant some kind of joke or surprise was in the offing, not always a pleasant one. He would have to chide Peter most severely about his frivolous nature one of these days. Several hours ago he would have plunged into such a lecture with relish. Only now he discovered he didn't quite have the energy to do it. Instead he said without heat, "Is it dinnertime?"

"About an hour ago," Peter replied. "I even cooked." His air of conscious virtue should have been annoying, but abruptly Egon found himself struggling not to smile. Peter had always been able to cut through his funk and lighten his mood, sometimes without even trying. He was trying now, of course, but instead of resenting the effort, Egon found himself rather touched by it.

Peter noticed, of course. He always did, that kind of thing. "Aha!"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you've decided you're still human." He propped himself on the desk and sat there cross-legged. "A good thing, too." He caught Egon's eye. "Sorry about the experiment. But the thing really reeked."

Egon found his dormant sense of humor tickled into life. "It did, didn't it?"

"The worst. So, buddy, you gonna come upstairs and eat something or are you gonna stay down here and sulk awhile longer."

"I wasn't sulking, Peter," Egon defended himself, then his innate honesty made him add, "Well, perhaps a bit. It has not been a pleasant few days."

"I'll go for that. Getting shot at is right up there at the top of my list of things I don't like to happen. You and Ray getting trashed, even a little bit, isn't much fun either, though Janine's gonna have a field day with that finger of yours. Besides," he added with exaggerated outrage, "now I've got a bullet hole in my favorite jumpsuit."

Egon had been alarmed by that near miss, but now he said reasonably, "One jumpsuit is just like another, Peter. How could it be your favorite?"

"Yours may be all alike, but I like the green collar better than the blue one," Peter responded immediately, grinning. "Matches my eyes." The grin widened. "And speaking of eyes, you haven't got much room to talk, not when you're wearing those glasses." He cocked his head and studied Egon, considering the effect. "Janine sees you in them, especially when you're bandaged to boot and you're doomed, you know that, don't you, buddy?"

Egon winced. "Not that bad, surely."

"Worse." Peter grinned. "She's up there. I think you're in major trouble." He paused just long enough for Egon's heart to sink into his shoes, then he stuck his hand in his pocket and produced Egon's spare pair of glasses with the normal red frames. "So here's the plan, big guy. You save those blue ones for a special occasion when Janine's real mad at us. Then you put 'em on and bat your baby blues at her. She'll melt in a minute. Deal?"

Egon hesitated, innately reluctant to use Janine in such a manner yet half afraid Peter would bolt with the red glasses if he didn't agree. Then he found himself grinning back. "Deal," he agreed, accepting the glasses and exchanging them for the blue ones with relief. He went around the desk and shoved the offending pair into the drawer, out of sight. The red glasses promptly slid down on his nose.

"If you had any sense, which I, for one, doubt," Peter said sententiously, "you'd go see that guy in Albany again and get these adjusted. But of course you don't have sense."

"Coming from you, Peter..." Egon began.

Peter shook his head, holding up a hand to forestall the inevitable comparison. "No, listen, Spengs. You don't have sense in certain areas. Maybe you're brilliant and all that and save our bacon nine times out of ten, but there are things you get wrong all the time. Janine, for one."

"I manage with Janine just fine," Egon said quickly.

"Sure, if your whole raison d'etre is to keep her successfully dangling," Peter agreed, bounding to his feet and slapping Egon on the shoulder. "Now if it was me..."

"I'd rather not hear it," Egon said. "You did mention eating, didn't you?"

"Hungry, are we? Well, sure. You've been safe down here and not up there with the smell that ate New York. Still, Ray knew some chemical stuff that knocked it down to a livable level. Brainy kid, Ray."

"You said that right after you first met him," Egon said reminiscently, shaking his head a little at the length of their friendship. He'd never have believed it when he first met Peter Venkman, but then that Peter Venkman could never have come down here and managed to cheer him up with a few carefully chosen words.

"See. I was perceptive even then. Come on, Spengs. If we have to live with what's left of the big stink, so do you." He propelled Egon up to the first floor. Janine wasn't at her desk, so that may have been more of Peter's fast mouth, but when they went up to the second floor, he heard voices and Janine's was one of them. As they came up the stairs, she flung herself at Egon.

"Oh, Egon, I'm sorry about your experiment."

"That's quite all right, Janine. You had an emergency. Under the circumstances I would have forgotten the experiment myself. I hope your uncle is doing better."

"Well...he pinched his nurse today," she said consideringly. "My aunt is steamed at him over it and she wouldn't be steamed if he were dying. He's gonna be okay and she says now he'll listen to her about all that pasta and beer. So I guess it's a good thing in the long run."

"Pinching his nurse," Peter said with a grin. "The old guy's got style."

"You'd never do that, Peter," Ray said, eyes wide. When Peter gave him a look, he grinned. "You'd try to fast talk 'em instead."

By this time, Janine had noticed Egon's broken finger and started fussing over it. Clutching his injured hand in both of hers she looked up at him in alarm. "I bet it really hurts, Egon."

"Actually, it's fairly comfortable at the moment," Egon replied, realizing he hadn't even noticed the ache after Peter came downstairs. Reminded of it now, he could feel it, but it wasn't as bad as before. "It's certain I'll survive the experience."

Over Janine's shoulder he saw Peter's bright grin and knew without being told what Peter was thinking. Would he survive Janine's attentions?

"Hey, Janine," called Winston from the kitchen, "you've still got Mama Spengler's cure-all recipe, don't you? Shall I dig out the blender?" Before Egon could protest, Zeddemore emerged bearing a cake on a platter, complete with flaming candles. "Happy birthday, Egon," he called out, depositing the huge cake with relief.

"Yeah, the little nutcase forgot all about it," Peter said promptly. "Didn't have a clue why I dragged him up here."

Egon realized he hadn't. Though he should have expected this, his bad mood had gotten in the way of a birthday celebration. "No," he said. "I thought I was up here so I could smell the reek of the century." There was scarcely a hint of the odor lingering, so Ray's chemical compound must have done the trick. He looked around at his friends, from Winston's happy smile to Ray's delighted bounce to Janine's open affection and Peter's happy contentment. He found himself abruptly very moved.

"So blow out the candles already," Janine urged. "Come on, Egon, you can do it."

He leaned in closer, drew a deep breath and blew them all out at once. Surely there were too many of them. He couldn't be that old! Catching Peter's eye, he made a counting gesture at the cake, and Peter grinned.

"Well, we didn't want to cut you short, Egon. Besides, short of violating the fire ordinances, it makes a great effect."

"Here's your presents," Ray added with barely suppressed excitement, laying two business envelopes on the table.

Egon eyed the envelopes with surprise. He had half expected something fancy with garish giftwrap--Peter could always find the most obnoxious wrapping paper in the five boroughs, and usually did. He remembered one year when the paper had been adorned with belly dancers with little 'Happy Birthdays' written on their stomachs. And once he'd used Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles paper. Egon enjoyed groaning at the sight, but this year no ugly wrapping paper was in evidence, and for a moment he almost lost his new good mood. The sight of those two envelopes was a disappointment, and only Ray's eager face stopped him from sinking into the doldrums again.

"Go on, Egon, open 'em," Janine urged. "If you know how hard it was to keep you from finding out about those presents..."

"This one first." Winston plucked up a letter and passed it to him. "We called in a lot of favors on this one, Spengs, but in the end it wasn't that."

Egon picked up the envelope. It was plain, nothing to give away its contents, and he opened it warily, uncertain of what to expect. The letterhead surprised him. A letter from NASA. Hmm. He bent his head over it, reading blankly, then his eyes widened in sheer delight, and he was suddenly very moved. "You guys..." he began, pausing to clear his throat as his voice caught. How had they known--and how had they managed it?

"What is it, Egon?" Janine prompted, though she must be in on the secret.

"My experiment, the one I couldn't complete because it needed weightlessness, the ectoplasmic discorporation theory. It's to be taken on an upcoming shuttle flight." He was stunned at the magnitude of the gift.

"Well, gosh, Egon, they saw what a great experiment it was," Ray remarked. "Besides, there have been ghosts in space and who knows what could happen on an upcoming flight. They need our help as much as we need theirs. Winston knew just who to talk to to get things going and we all tried to explain how important it was to get the tests completed up there. Peter found somebody who was a Ghostbusters groupie in Houston and he fast-talked him." Ray grinned expectantly. "I hope you like it."

"Like it! Guys, I don't know what to say." He looked at the three of them, their faces shining with delight, and realized it had been a team effort. Ray must have described the experiment in such terms to interest NASA and Peter had probably done the PR with his usual skill. Winston's original work with NASA must have given them the in they needed. "This is..." For once he couldn't find the words to describe how moved he was. "This is the most..."

"Oh, Egon, I think it's wonderful," breathed Janine, flinging her arms around him and hugging him as if she had realized how moved he was and wanted to offer him up a distraction, one that benefitted her as well.

Peter gave him a nudge in the ribs when Janine let him go, and mouthed the word 'glasses.' Egon made a face at him.

"Here's your other present," Ray said. "This one was Peter's idea. Of course he wanted to do it for himself, but we talked him out of it. The universe isn't ready for something like that."

"Shows what you know, Stantz," Peter replied. "I think it's exactly the right tribute to my genius. But today we're doing Egon's genius. Here you go, you supernova, you." He snatched the second envelope from Ray and presented it to Egon himself, giving him a half-mocking little bow.

Egon opened this one warily, half expecting pictures of naked women or booby traps to shoot from the envelope, but none did. Instead he unfolded a certificate that stated a star had been named after him. Egon had heard people could immortalize themselves thusly for a modest fee, and there were certainly enough stars to go around, but he liked the idea of this. He found himself smiling. True, Peter would love a star named Venkman. Maybe Egon could return the compliment in November when Peter's birthday came around.

"Oh, Egon, it's so romantic," breathed Janine, still hanging on his arm. "After we have our cake, will you take me up on the roof and show it to me."

Egon studied the certificate to determine the location and magnitude of his very own star. "I doubt it would be visible over the city lights," he said thoughtfully. "But the next time we're away from the city, I'll be sure to point it out to you."

"Oh, Egon, where will we be?" Janine asked.

"She's got you there, Spengs," Peter caroled out in delight. "Go ahead, make a date."

Egon eyed Peter narrowly, but the unrepentant psychologist merely mouthed the word, 'glasses' again. He was no help.

Ray jumped in quickly. "We'd better have our cake quick before Slimer shows up," he suggested. "I haven't seen him since we got home. I think the nasty smell kept him away."

Peter considered that thoughtfully, weighing the options. A bad smell or Slimer. Egon could see it clearly written on his face.

"Interesting, Peter," the physicist retorted. "It would be entirely possible to bottle the scent of the failed experiment and saturate your pillow with it to protect it from Slimer. I'd be happy to do you a favor like that."

"Uh, no thanks," Peter said hastily, holding up his hands as if to fend of Egon--or Slimer--or the stench. "Nice of you, buddy, but I guess I can live with the spud."

With timing that couldn't have been perfected, the little green ghost popped through the nearest wall, screeching, "Cake! Cake! Oboy! Cake!" and made a strafing run at it just as he had once when he'd eaten Winston's entire birthday cake. Only Ray's protective stance halted him. Quickly Stantz passed him a plate of cake.

"It's Egon's birthday, Slimer," he said reproachfully. "He gets to eat first."

"And so do the rest of us," Peter said, snatching his piece and beginning to fork it in fast. Egon grimaced extravagantly.

"Your table manners, Peter..."

"Are just fine," Venkman replied around a mouthful of cake. The effect was not aesthetically pleasing. Egon grimaced a second time but didn't protest. After all, it had been a very strange day, and he remembered Venkman's companionship in the basement lab when he'd come to bring Egon to the party.

Janine brought her cake over and sat next to Egon, who didn't have the heart to edge away. These were his friends and they looked so pleased about the party he wouldn't have found fault if Peter's next present had been a water balloon. Hoping it wasn't, because he knew Peter well enough to believe it could be, Egon began mentally to plan what he'd need for the NASA experiment.

Peter grinned wickedly. "So, Spengs, now that you're forty-six--"

"He's not forty-six," Janine defended him.

"Now that you're in your declining years," Peter corrected, "I hope this doesn't mean you're gonna be a real killjoy from now on."

"I am never a killjoy, Peter," Egon replied.

"What, never?" Ray asked with a wicked grin.

"Well, hardly ever," Winston returned.

"If you can stop this Gilbert and Sullivan routine," Egon said sternly, pretending to glare at them, "I have something important to say."

"Now we're in trouble," Peter whispered quite audibly to Janine, reaching out automatically to swat Slimer away from the rest of the cake. The little spud retreated with a disappointed, "Aw!"

"I merely wanted to point out," Egon said with stiff dignity that he had trouble maintaining, "that Peter's birthday is the next one."

"Hey, all right!" Peter's grin stretched from ear to ear.

"And if we are all careful and work very hard," Egon went on, "perhaps we can turn him into a sensible human being somewhere near the end of October."

Peter stuck out his tongue at him, then gestured Slimer over. "He's got extra cake in his sock, Spud," he announced in a stage whisper.

"No he doesn't. Here's more cake for you, Slimer," Ray intervened. "Peter, that's not nice on his birthday."

"Sure it is. He loves us." Peter winked at Egon. "Today we can get away with murder. Next year I'm gonna buy him passage on the first civilian flight to the moon. Gotta keep on his good side, you know."

You are on my good side, Peter, Egon thought fondly. All of you are. He beckoned Slimer to his side. "They've hidden the rest of the cake under their pillows, Slimer," he said instructively. "I would hurry if I were you."

Slimer swooped straight upward with chortles of glee while the other three Ghostbusters yelled, "Egon!" and advanced on him with every intention of committing grievous bodily harm. Laughing and triumphant, they carried him up the stairs and stood him under the shower while Janine followed, giggling to herself.

In spite of the icy water cascading down on his head, Egon wouldn't trade his life for anything.

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