Aw, old credits. You are a balm to my itchy, irritated soul. By the way, this episode's credentials include: Morgan, Wong, and Kim Manners. Is that like the all-star team, or what?
Daytime. And when I say "daytime," I mean "idyllic, pristine, glorious, lovers-skipping- through-the-fields, single-girls-buying- strappy-sandals, springtime-type daytime." Blue sky, kids playing baseball, the anticipation of Season Four Mulder: life is glorious. Our old friend, the Non-Hip, Non-Squiggly Font of Location Introduction reads, "Home." Then a long beat..."Pennsylvania." Dude, even the N-H, N-S FoLI used to be clever. The kids banter a bit, before the pitch and a swing. The batter connects, and the ball sails through the bright blue sky and lands with a dull thud in the yard of the baby killer's house. The left fielder races to the rusted chain-link fence and stops short. "Hey, come on!" the pitcher yells. Left Field looks back hesitantly. "It went on the Peacocks' property," he calls. The entire field of kids falls silent and solemn. They decide to find another ball.
The batter steps up to the plate, reaching into the mud and rubbing it over his hands. He taps home plate with his bat, and digs his feet into the dirt. Keeps shuffling. He shuffles until fresh, red blood begins to seep out of the mud. Along with a very small, extremely deformed-looking hand. The kids back the hell up. And when I say "back the hell up," I mean they "back the hell up."
Cut to a shot of a baseball, buried in tall grass. Beautiful, young, not-on-the-lam Mulder kneels and picks it up. He smells it, and then practices his wind-up. Next to him, beautiful, young, non-weepy, not-yet-running- from-the-aliens- coming-to-take- over-the-earth Scully is measuring the now-empty grave. Mulder examines the baseball closely, then glances over at the Peacock place. Those three charming and attractive men stand on the porch. Scully picks herself up out of the grass and writes something in a small notebook. Look how cute and science-y she is! Not at all weepy. Scully starts reeling off a string of mathematical equations, as Mulder bounces the baseball from his flexed pec back into his hand. It's a nifty trick, one that causes Scully to pause in her numerical blathering to shoot him an eyebrow. Mulder goes back to practicing his wind-up, as Scully concludes that a "left-handed individual" probably dug the grave. And I'd like to stick up for my left-handed brethren here and point out that not all of us are deformed, homicidal, incestuous freaks of nature, thank you very much. In fact, most of us are very, very smart and creative. And good-looking. Ahem. Anyway. Mulder nods and goes through his wind-up again. Scully continues, saying that although they've got a lot of footprints out there in the field, she thinks it would be a good idea to take some castings of the shoe impressions near the grave. Mulder doesn't respond. "Meanwhile, I've quit the FBI and become a spokesperson for the Ab Roller," Scully snarks.