Some Test

A couple of days after the New Year, Mulder and Scully met at an 'Olde Worlde' styled inn overlooking the Capitol Hill park in Albany, New York. The restaurant was well known for its Italian cooking and its great views at sunset.

"Hopefully, we'll get a decent pizza there," Mulder had said over the phone.

They met in the parking lot as Mulder parked the rental car and got seated without much fuss. It was a busy evening, despite being midweek, and the sounds of a family party boomed thru from the hotel function suites.

"Why are you heading to Canada, of all places?" Mulder quizzed. He scoured the typed menu for hidden meaning and unknown ingredients.

"I had this strange meeting with a doctor from FEMA," said Scully. "I think he was in my medical school when I first studied to be a doctor, but I would never have remembered his name. He wants me to take his place on some investigation involving animal autopsies."

Mulder was pondering the origins of the myco-protein in the vegan burgers, and seemed more interested in that than the intrigues of his current colleague.

"Yeah?" he said, looking up briefly from the menu. "So why are you in Albany right now? Are you going to Canada by train?" he mused. "They have planes there, you know."

"Well, no." Dana said "There are nearly ten thousand Federal buildings in the mainland States. But the one I was at this morning is the only one that holds any information on the man I'm interested in."

"We do have computers and electronic mail nowadays," he suggested helpfully.

"You may say that," she shrugged, "but this friend, the doctor I was talking about, his details were letter-press typed onto index cards with stencil notes written in ink. No hand-writing allowed. And the cards were in an unmarked box. And that box was amongst a dozen others in the wrong office building, on the wrong side of the street. I'm lucky I had the right town."

"That doesn't sound unusual for the F.B.I. No-one cares where the information is, as long as it's hidden. At least you found the reports you were looking for." He seemed irritated, keen to turn the conversation to his own tale. "I spent two weeks in Denver compiling a report on international U.F.O. sightings. Proper government figures. Not your usual crackpot reports. Usually, I would expect that kind of thing to be kicked around and patronized for weeks and months before it quietly disappears. It used to happen all the time. Now, I find there's no report. It literally leaves my hand and disappears into nothingness."

With their respective frustrations still hanging in the air, they went straight to ordering main meals. They decided to try to chat idly about banal items from the national news, but Mulder became increasingly more irritated by the sound from the wedding celebration.

"Excuse me," he said to the waitress. "Can you do something about that noise? I'm trying to talk to my colleague here about business. It's very distracting."

"I'm sorry, sir," she replied. "We have all the central doors open. The air-conditioning is broken in some parts of the hotel."

She went off to deal with something more food-related. Mulder seemed unconvinced. He wiped his mouth and stood up.

"I'm just going to wash my hands. Maybe I can find out if that wedding's going to last all evening."

"Are you joking, Mulder?" Dana frowned slightly. "It's a wedding after all. Let them enjoy themselves before they settle down to the horrors of real life."

"I'll just be a minute. You know I could have been a diplomat. It was a close choice between that and, well, chasing flying saucers."

"I can see that," Dana laughed, hoping to scorn Mulder back into his seat. "At least leave your gun here with me. We don't want any gunboat diplomacy in a crowded restaurant."

"Oh, that's funny," he nodded. "I'll be fine. Everyone'll be fine. I really need to wash my hands, though. Really, I'll just be two minutes."

He disappeared without further comment. After a few minutes the two main courses arrived looking spectacular and filling. Dana waited a few minutes more, but decided that it would be a waste of taxpayer expenses to let the meal go cold. She finished her fish with pleasure and ordered coffee. "My friend'll be back in a minute," she hoped.

After a few minutes, the sound of the band started again. Dana sipped another cup of coffee. The ancient strains of The Walker Brothers boomed thru from the function suite. Dana was not really sure if it was a sound system playing an old record or a poor session-band knocking out a half-reasonable standard.

At the second chorus of "The Sun ain't gonna shine – anymore", she concluded that it was a combination of over-stretched, but enthusiastic warbling and a backing track. Dreadful, even at this distance; probably painful in the wedding party itself.

"Why do these people think they have even the smallest amount of talent?" she tutted. The cheering of the crowd increased briefly then shrank back to a dull murmur.

When Mulder returned, Dana had already settled the check and was considering leaving. "I thought you might actually have left," she told him, eyebrows raised.

"No. No, I had a bit of a word with the wedding guests. They seem a good bunch after all." He added with a shrug. He prodded the cooled pizza slices without enthusiasm.

"Mulder?" Dana was a little bemused. "Did you crash a wedding party?"

He shook his head. "A few drinks. A few songs. No big deal." He looked off vaguely into the distance, then caught the attention of the waitress. "Can I get a box for these, please?"

"Mulder. Was that you singing? Were you singing karaoke?" Dana was unsure whether she was horrified or impressed by this undercover activity.

"I refuse to answer on the grounds it may tend to incriminate me," he smiled with some finality.