Take a drink, X-Files drinking game aficionados: Scully's performing an autopsy. She's weighing Hoffman's heart when, low and behold, he sits up and tells her he's going to need it back when she's done. Gillian Anderson does her patented breathy "oh my God," and stares, bemused, at his rotting, yet no longer lifeless body. Hoffman hops off the table. Scully wanders over to him, and goes to poke him with her scalpel, which she drops as he brushes her hands away. She bends to pick it up, and cuts herself. She peers at the wound, stands up, and sees Hoffman, dead again, lying peacefully on the table. She looks -- say it with me -- perplexed.

Okay, so it's, like, 3 AM and I just turned off the tape to go rummage through the fridge, and HBO is showing, like this very half-assed (so to speak) soft-core porn starring Paul Mercutio. That's so extremely sad.

Back in the autopsy room, Scully sits calmly by the now covered body of the still dead Hoffman as Mulder bursts through the door. She announces that Hoffman had a combination of red wine and strychnine in his stomach, which Mulder hypothesizes is poisoned communion wine, administered by O'Fallon, which seems to me a bit of a leap. Couldn't Hoffman have committed suicide by poisoning himself? How does Mulder know that Hoffman even took communion? Couldn't someone else have slipped him the mickey? Last I checked, red wine was not the sole domain of priests. Scully blankly agrees to get the warrant.