Elsewhere, later, Ed Jerse is at work, trying to sell stock to people over the telephone. He looks very hungover and, basically, totally miserable. Man, there's nothing worse than being hungover at the office. Because, unlike having the flu, being hungover is generally all your own fault. The last time I was really, really hungover was December 31st, 1999. Yeah, I tied one on on the 30th, but good. I couldn't even drink on New Year's Eve. I remember waking up the next morning and being convinced that I was literally going to die. Ed looks like I felt that morning. Except more like a dude. Also, hotter. The woman he has on the line seems pretty distracted -- her kids are yelling in the background. Ed doggedly keeps at it, yammering about some stem-cell stock. "Loser," Jodie Foster's voice coos in the middle of his spiel. Ed stops and looks around. "Yes?" asks the woman on the line. "What did you say?" Ed asks her. She distractedly reminds him that he was talking. "Before that? What did you say?" Ed asks her. The woman has no idea what he's talking about. Jodie bursts into hysterical laughter. Ed frantically looks around the office. He drops the phone and looks up and over the sides of his cube. Jodie just keeps laughing. Ed tears though the office and into a nearby cube. "Say it to my face. Right to my face. Now that I'm in front of you, call me a loser to face!" he yells at a young, dark-haired woman who's helping another woman (who, amusingly, actually looks very much like Jodie Foster. Is that Jodie Foster? I don't know. It looks like her. Anyway). "Trash her desk," Jodie Foster growls. On cue, Ed sweeps everything off the woman's desk. Other office members pour into his cube to investigate. Why doesn't anything fun and interesting like this ever happen at my office? Here at TWoP Towers, we just sit around and throw Cheetos at each other. Occasionally, we wrestle. An Asian woman storms into the office and tells Ed to go home. "We'll discuss this later," she tells him.
LBO. Scully sits at Mulder's desk, examining his name plaque. She looks at the "I Want To Believe" poster. Her hair looks very, very nice. Take off the taupe, though, Dana. Take off the taupe. Mulder bustles in, all decked out in casual wear and carrying a duffle bag, yammering that he "made a last-ditch effort" to get out of "it," but that the Bureau is forcing him to take a vacay by threatening to dock his pay if he doesn't get the hell out of town. He pulls some files out of the cabinets. "I don't like it," he says, "but I got no choice. I gotta pay the rent, I gotta eat." Oh, Mulder! Everyone knows that you've got a fortune stashed away in the Caymans, the better to live on once you have to go on the lam. Scully watches him silently as he keeps blathering that this is "another way for [the FBI] to get rid of [him]," but that he's really relieved she'll be around to hold down the fort. He hands her some files to "keep an eye on." Scully just stares at him coolly. "Why don't I have a desk?" she finally asks. "What do you mean?" Mulder asks. Scully gestures with his nameplate. "I always assumed that that was your area," Mulder says, nodding toward the darkness behind them. "Back there?" Scully eyebrows calmly. Mulder sits. "Okay, so, we'll have them send down another desk and there won't be any room to move down here but we can put them really close together, face to face and maybe we can play some Battleship," he says. Scully doesn't crack a smile at this. And while the image of the two of them playing Battleship is a cute one, excuse me, Mulder? Scully can't have a desk because you'll feel too cramped? In your basement office? I hate to say this -- really, it pains me -- but shut up.