One week earlier. Georgetown. 10:55 PM. Scully pulls up in front of her townhouse. "William was a bullfrog," she sings softly to the sleepy-looking baby in the back seat. I'm so tickled by the "Detour" reference (continuity? On this show? Maybe he is a miracle baby) that I'm not even going to ask why on earth Scully has her infant out at 11 PM when he should be tucked into his bed and dreaming about moving bottles of milk out of the fridge with his mind. First of all, if she's working at Quantico -- as we've been told -- there's no way she'd be home from work so late. And he certainly wasn't in some random day-care facility because, hello, ample opportunity for kidnapping much? And if he was at Ma Scully's, I don't know why Scully chose to take him home in the middle of the night instead of letting him sleep. Unless it's because Ma Scully lets murderers and kidnappers stay over on a regular basis, which, frankly, isn't that improbable. I feel compelled to add that William is wearing the cutest little hat. "Was a good friend of mine," Scully sings, getting out of the car and scurrying around to the back. A shadow figure stands in the alley across the street and watches as Scully unhooks William from his car seat. The Shadowy Figure heaves a raspy breath, à la Darth Vader. Maybe it is Darth Vader. That would be sweet! He could be all, "William, I am your father." That would put a whole new spin on the mytharc, doncha think? Ahem. Anyway. "And it must have been some mighty fine wine," Scully coos, lifting her baby out of the car and smiling at him maternally. "Joy to the world, all the boys and girls," she sings. There's a noise from behind her, and she stops singing and looks around, apprehensively. She sees nothing. "Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea," Scully starts up again, heading for the door. "Joy to you and me." The mysterious dude watches as mother and child go inside.
LBO. Doggett, still in his dress shirt and tie, does push-ups while reading a file sitting on the carpet beneath his manly, manly body. Man, what I wouldn't give to be that file. If you know what I mean. And I think you do. "One thousand four hundred eighty-three," he breathes. " One thousand four hundred eighty-four." One last push-up. "Twenty," he heaves, and collapses. That was the best Doggett scene ever. With the push-ups? And the funny? And the push-ups? Good times. Doggett rolls over and looks at his watch. "They don't pay me enough," he grunts, and then peels himself off the carpet and leaves the office. The elevator door dings in the distance. Mysterious Guy from the Alley scampers into the LBO, his red Converse lowtops the only item on his body that are particularly visible. (In other words, we still haven't seen his face). He walks in silence over to the file cabinets and starts digging around. The camera pans up to his face, but he shines his flashlight in the lens at the last moment, obscuring our view. Clever shot.