Oh, sweet God. Fred's on the can and I just saw way too much of that nether area where the gut hits the thighs, and it's so uncalled for. Fred idly flips through his newspaper. Who gets that comfy in an airport restroom? Why am I even thinking about this? Creeeeeak. Fred peers down to see Morty's cart right in front of his stall. He's -- understandably -- wigged, and tells Morty to leave him be. Morty creaks closer. Fred stands up to give Morty what-for in no uncertain terms, and Morty grabs his ankle and drags him under the door of the stall. Fred screams. That Morty's pretty damn strong for a midget with no legs.
Welcome to Dulles International Airport, Washington D.C. Thank you for flying Indian Stereotypes Airlines!
Random Washington Hotel of No Name. A cute bellhop lets Fred inside his room, and attempts to make some kind of pleasant conversation, but totally gets dissed. Fred just stands and breathes loudly. The bellhop makes a giant whatever face and books. As he leaves, the Ominous Creaking of Morty's Cart of Evil commences, and the camera pans down to show us that Fred's luggage is all loaded up on Morty's cart. Fred turns ponderously, sits on the bed, and starts leaking blood all over everything. His eyes turn completely red. The bed is suddenly soaked with blood. It's really gross.
The people at FOX think that people who watch The X-Files use Sprint, drive Mazdas, shop at Radio Shack, and have Discover cards.
Welcome back to what is now identified as the Hotel Belmont, 9:46 AM. Crime scene investigators swarm over Fred's bloodstained suite like the ants in my kitchen, as Scully enters the room, all sensible attire and lack of belly. BoobWatch2001: A Whole New Year: Still Totally Boob-Free, and Now, I'm Not Sure I Like That. She and Doggett exchange remarkably pleasant greetings and chat about traffic being a bitch, and she's so sorry she's late, charming smile, winsome grin -- who are these people? Do I detect...job satisfaction? Not that I know what it looked like if I saw it. Doggett explains the case to Scully; I'm not even going to go into the dialogue, because it's exactly what we all just saw happen. Doggett tells Scully that the ME's preliminary report has ruled out some kind of exotic disease, like Ebola, and that the room shows no sign of forced entry. "Nobody knows anything, in other words," Scully eyebrows. "I guess that's why it's in your inbox," Doggett retorts, flirtatiously. What's going on with these two? Is this what a good night's sleep will do? Although maybe Scully's late because she was at a tryst with Hot Autopsy Guy from last week. Doggett runs down a tongue-in-cheek list of what he thinks might be behind Fred's death: "Haunted hotel room? Alien invaders? Sloppy vampires?" All of which, by the way, would be more interesting than what this episode is actually about. Plot point alert: Scully spies a bloody child-sized palm print on the duvet cover. Doggett waxes nostalgic again about his days back on the force, and a ring of cat burglars that used children for "B and E jobs," but he's never seen anything like this. We. Know. Scully comments calmly that she doesn't believe there is any way a child could have killed Fred, which relieves poor innocent Doggett. Scully glances sideways at her partner. "I do think it's wise you keep an open mind," she tells him. They exchange another one of those almost flirtatious glances. The hell?