"Trick or treat!"
"...Frohike?"
"Heya, Scully! Happy Halloween! Whoo-ee, you look like something I'd like to get in my trick-or-treat ba—ow! What was that for?" Frohike rubbed his head and glared at Byers, who appeared from behind him.
"Hello," Byers said, as always more formal than his layabout companions.
"Hey!" added Langley, who was wearing a very uncharacteristic grey suit, hair tied into a ponytail, a splatter of fake blood across his long face.
"Hi," Scully said, taking in this scene. "I'd ask what you're doing here, but I'm afraid of the answer. What are you supposed to be?" That was directed at Langley.
"I'm JFK!" he exclaimed proudly.
"Here he goes," mumbled Frohike.
"I re-read the police reports to get the angles right—" Langley said, but Byers cut him off.
"Mulder wanted us to make sure you were ok tonight, since it is Halloween."
"That's very touching of you, but I think it's trick, not treat," she answered.
"What do you me—" Byers' last words were cut off by a stream of shaving foam to his chest. Scully brandished the can like a warrior.
"TRICK!"
