A car races down a deserted road, Monica at the wheel. She bites her lip and looks at the pack of Morley Lights ("Morley Lights. For when you're only a little bit evil.") on the passenger seat beside her. Hey, Monica, if you're trying to stop smoking, maybe you ought to, I don't know, get rid of your cigerettes? She gives into temptation and sticks one in her mouth. Insert your own "Monica" joke here, part the second. I know, the Lewinsky jokes are way hacky and tired and I'm the last one who ought to be making them, considering that I'm particularly defensive about Ms. Lewinsky because, during that entire scandal, about fifty people told me I look just like her, including my own mother ("It's a compliment, honey. She's pretty!") and a homeless man who then asked me for a blow job. On the other hand, it's like the middle of the freaking night, and it's been raining for two whole weeks here in Los Angeles and I think I'm developing SAD. I'm hacky and tired. As Monica gets ready to light up, her car begins to die. The engine sputters out and the dashboard lights go off. As Monica looks at her dashboard in alarm, the car revives, and the lights go back on with a whoosh. Monica makes a "hmmm" face, and glances out the window, cigarette in her mouth. She's about to light it when she sees a very bright light in the field in the distance. "No freaking way!" she exclaims, as she pulls over, and watches the light move across the field behind her. With a squeal of brakes, she flips a bitch to track the UFO.
Alien Bus Stop Hill. Following the usual routine, the UFO settles down close to the ground, shimmers, and vanishes. A pair of Nikes clomps through the grass. The camera pulls up to show Absalom and Jeremiah park their truck, hop out, grab the naked body of a man, cover it in a blanket, and load it into the back of the truck. As they finish loading the body, Monica comes scampering over the crest of the hill. "Stop there! I'm a Federal Agent!" she yells. Absalom and Jeremiah look at one another, hop in the truck, and drive off. Monica looks around the field dismally, and spies another naked male body in the field. From her vantage point, it looks like Mulder. She sighs and purses her lips
The morgue. The camera travels from the naked dead toes of a man up his legs. Scully's scrub-clad body blocks the body's naughty bits. The body belongs to Gary, Richie's friend, and, of course, Scully is the only person in Montana who can do an autopsy, though she's pregnant, emotionally unstable, and generally in no shape to have a scalpel in her hands. She talks into the Handheld Autopsy Recorder, detailing Gary's injuries in the very shakiest of tones. Doggett and Skinner watch, concerned, from the corner of the room. I guess they're there for moral support. Or in case Scully faints, one of them can catch her before she cracks her head open on the cement floor. When the time comes to describe the wounds on Gary's face, Scully's voice finally cracks, and she breaks down. Skinner and Doggett continue their sympathetic staring. Scully manages to pull herself together enough to talk to Richie, who's shown into the room by a random police officer. He looks horrible in a checked shirt and a plaid coat. I know he's emotionally wasted, but Scully's got huge problems too, and she never makes a sartorial misstep. "Oh my God, Gary," Richie moans. Scully sighs sympathetically, and tells him that he doesn't need to stick around for any of this autopsy stuff, they just need him to sign a form. He stumbles out, and she heads back to breakdown mode. "Dana..." Skinner begins, pleadingly. "I'm okay," Scully insists. "There's work to do here." She squares her shoulders and gets back to cutting Gary's body open.