Credits. Okay, a couple of things about that teaser: (a) Good use of the Sad, Sad Piano. Mark Snow is my composer boyfriend again. (b) And the monologue? Don't shoot me, but I almost liked it. I don't know; it didn't really make sense, but it was all sad and pretty, and featured the subject of item c. (c) Muuuuuuuuuulder!
After the commercials and a nice long nap, we return to more stop-action-looking footage of Scully. I think it's surveillance photography, actually. This time, she's wandering around a train station, nervously consulting her watch. The camera focuses on the back of her head.
Fade to Scully and William walking into the Federal Grounds Internet Café. There's a Legal Grounds coffeehouse right by my house. In addition to java, they dispense free legal advice. Isn't that clever? I wonder if Federal Grounds dispenses, like, subpoenas. Anyway, Scully rolls the baby inside the café, right past a sign reading "Cheese Specials." Indeed. The number-one cheese special is "gorganzola," a word that is very, very similar to my non-Mighty Big TV email address. I think I'm going to take that as a shout-out. It's as close as we're going to get, anyway. So thanks, 1013! Scully exchanges pleasantries with the barista, who clearly knows her, and snags a big mug of her regular. Finally, she rolls the sprog over to a table conveniently located near a big picture window, the better at which to be spotted by people who know she has a computer at home, and who will very easily put two and two together and figure out that she's not just surfing for porn. Seriously, Scully? Go to Kinkos. The bad guys will never look for you there, although the light's not nearly as flattering.
Scully signs into her email and finds five new messages, four of which are spam: "Lose 25 pounds in TWO WEEKS;" "Travel Bargains – Airfa;" "Tired of Your Old Job?"; "Requested Research L." And... "Dearest Dana," from TrustNo1@mail.com. At this point, I just throw my hands up in the air and fling myself back against my sofa. "Dearest DANA"? Holy Mary, preserve us all. The letter says, "I've resisted contacting you for reasons I know you continue to appreciate. But, to be honest, some unexpected dimensions of my new life are eating away at any resolve I have left. I'm lonely, Dana, uncertain of my ability to live like this. I want to come home. To you, and to William." Okay. Stop it with the "Dana"s. Also, "I'm lonely"? Why doncha call your friends at 976-PORN, Fox? Scully reads for, like, twenty minutes, shooting the monitor a gigantic eyebrow. Somewhere, an infant begins to cry. Scully glances over at William, who's chawing contentedly on his bottle. She looks up, and sees that the crier is ensconced in a stroller being pushed by Mallory, Leo McGarry's daughter over on The West Wing. Which works, because they're in Washington! Maybe they were off visiting Grandpa! Scully smiles at the kid before brushing a tiny, crystalline tear out of her left eye and returns to her correspondence. "I am physically shaking right now, seeing your words," she types, "wishing it was you speaking them to me. I want so badly to see you, too, but you are still not safe here. PS - Pick up some Chubby Hubby on the way back from the market. Love, Polly Purseypants." Spawn of Mallory starts to wail again, and again Scully glances up. The kid is alone in her stroller. Mallory is nowhere to be seen. Scully makes a concerned face, and goes to investigate, leaving William all alone in his own stroller, holding a sign that says, "Kidnap Me, Please!" Scully and the Barista helplessly look at Spawn of Mallory, as Scully offers that she just saw Mallory. "I think that's her out there," Barista says, pointing outside. Mallory stands on the sidewalk, arguing with a man. Shortly, she comes back into the café, collects the baby, half-heartedly apologizes, gives Scully a weird look, and leaves. Scully just stands there and looks pretty.
Quantico. Poor Scully is sitting around an abandoned autopsy bay in her lab coat, crying over the saddest little love letter in the world, which she's printed out, the better to carry around in her bra all day. Her email address, for those of you keeping score, is Queequeg0925@hotmail.com. She's staring sadly at her note when the door suddenly opens. Scully crumples the letter, shoves it into her pocket, and looks up to greet Doggett and Moronica. "Can I talk to you a second?" Doggett asks. "It's about Agent Mulder," Moronica chirps. Man, Annabeth Gish's hair looks awful. Awful! It's all...feathered or something. Gillian Anderson must have hidden a crisp five-hundred-dollar bill in the hairdresser's Christmas card or something, because her hair is all red and bouncy and perfect, and Annabeth Gish looks like she got her head stuck in a blender. Anyway, according to Doggett, some "guy" has been trying to contact them "through Intelligence," wanting to talk to Mulder and only Mulder. "Who?" Scully asks. They don't know. But he's finally "tipped his hand," Moronica says. Apparently, the contact has gotten his hands on some "highly classified military files." What kind of military files? Scully wonders. "About these bio-engineered soldiers we've all come in contact with," Doggett exposits, "those so-called 'Super-Soldiers,' the same ones threatening Mulder's life, forcing him to live underground." Wow, that was the possibly the worst-written piece of exposition I've ever heard. Poor Robert Patrick looks embarrassed just to be reciting that line. And what does this man in the possession of the files about the Super-Soldiers want with dearest Fox? "He wants to give [Mulder] the names of these Super-Soldiers," Doggett explains. "And Mulder's the only one he'll give them to." Everyone stares. Um, who cares who the Super-Soldiers are if they're unstoppable? I mean, I guess one could more easily avoid them that way, sort of. Or something. Not really. Whatever. At any rate, Scully looks all shifty, then tells Doggett and Moronica that she has no idea how to get hold of Mulder. Then she runs out of the room. Doggett makes a concerned face, and follows Scully into her classroom, shooting her a Meaningful Look. She looks back at him. Staring. Staring.