Chapter Two
The X-Files' Office, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
April 14th, 2000, 8:15 a.m.
Mulder sniffed the air and inhaled the rich scent of a flavored coffee as he trudged off of the elevator. His spirit immediately lifted; this meant that Scully had come early and had forgiven him well enough to make them a good, strong pot of coffee to begin their day. Maybe she'd even be in enough good humor to tolerate him for dinner outside the FBI's regulations. He put on one of his most wicked smiles--one that he knew she either loved or hated seeing.
His pace quickened, and he suddenly could not wait to reach the open door to his office. "Good morning, sunshine. What's the special blend of the morning?" he cooed before setting one foot over the threshold. As soon as he did, Special Agent Chesty Short arose from Mulder's chair. He picked up his coffee mug and set it down next to Mulder's nameplate.
"Hazelnut, Agent Mulder. I would say good morning to you, too, but I'm afraid it's just not meant to be. I found the coffee in a drawer in that desk over there. I assume it's Agent Scully's. I must say that I'm rather surprised that she doesn't have her own nameplate considering all the other charges you've been making to the FBI's account recently."
"I'm sorry. Did I...enter the wrong office?" Mulder made a slight gesture to the name on his door and looked at the auditor perplexedly. Short shook his head and motioned for Mulder to come in. "I don't think there's enough room for three desks here."
"Oh, I assure you, Agent Mulder, I may dabble in and out of the subterranean dimensions of numbers, but they'd never assign me to your natural habitat."
"Then what are you doing here? And where's Scully?"
"Doing the same audit with your superior, Assistant Director Skinner."
"Oh fine, she gets her wrists slapped while I get mine slit," Mulder grumbled inaudibly, filled his grimy mug full of coffee, and sat with his legs stretched across his bureau.
"All right. Let's start with your last case. I understand you just returned from New York City." He filled the chair Scully usually took and rested a leather portfolio on top of his crossed knees. "And please do start from the beginning, Agent Mulder."
"I was thinking about maybe telling the middle and adding a couple of twists first before that," Mulder snorted.
"I will remind you, Agent Mulder, that this expenses audit will be going before a subcommittee shortly in the Senate. As of now, they're asking for reasons why this section should remain open. They do not care for the same flippant and cavalier behavior that you're exhibiting."
"Okay, from the beginning. It was a Monday morning just like any other for me last week, until I got a tip from a reliable source."
The X-Files' Office, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
April 7th, 2000, 8:30 a.m.
"Please tell me that you have a good reason for being tardy again, Mulder," Scully rolled her eyes as he approached the doorjamb.
"Uh...did we have a meeting scheduled for this morning, Agent Scully?" he asked innocently and folded the newspaper he had been reading to fit underneath his arm.
"An 8 o'clock summation with AD Skinner. He sent me down here to find you after we waited for twenty-five minutes in his office. Patiently, I might add." Her voice bordered on supreme irritation, whilst her fingertips drummed on his desk.
"Well, Agent Scully, I do actually have a good purpose. If you'd care to take a seat and humor me, I'll be more than happy to show you."
"We'll start by sitting in AD Skinner's office--I'm sure he'd be interested as well." Her resolve was firm. Her persistence was driving even him nuts.
"But you communicate so much better with him than I, Agent. I think it'd be best if I showed this to you first, and then you can relay this data to him later."
"How much later?" she sneered.
"It'll just take a few minutes." Mulder smiled meekly, brought out the newspaper, and handed it to her.
"Oh, you're joking!" Scully scoffed disgustedly, slammed the door shut behind them, and locked it. She stretched out the entire paper's body to read the bold headline. "Alien Owned Restaurant Afflicts Terror on New York City Citizens! Where did you get--" she began but then glanced up at the title. "I should've known."
The words The Magic Bullet Newsletter decorated the header of the paper in a Gothic font and slightly underneath it was the phrase "a publication by the Lone Gunmen". Scully tossed the paper carelessly onto the bureau, and Mulder was quick to cover it with his briefcase. "Now just before you draw any conclusions, Agent Scully, might I indulge you in another form of media?"
"You mean one not dreamed up by "The Three Paranoiacs"? This, I've gotta see." She sighed and followed him behind his desk to check on The New York Times' website. Under 'today's headlines' column, he pointed to "Semi Runs Over Rockette" with the mouse and clicked on the link. "I still don't see what the hell's the connection, Mulder."
"Please bear with me, Agent. Would you like to sit down?" Mulder proffered his chair to her but instead she shook her head and crossed her arms. He shrugged and sat while she shadowed him like a queen bee.
"Budweiser truck driver Chuck DiCostanzo, 42 of Brooklyn, lost command of the wheel yesterday near the intersection of 6th Ave. and 50th St. The vehicle hit Judy D'Angelo, 22, of Staten Island at approximately 24 miles per hour. The accident occurred in the afternoon at about 1:23 p.m. Witnesses say that after the truck made contact with the victim, it spun out of control, crashed into about four more cars, and ultimately smashed into a cement light signal. The only casualties were DiConstanzo and D'Angelo. At this time, the causes of death are certain, but police authorities suspect that this accident was not a result of inadvertent actions on either person's behalf. I don't get it, Mulder," Scully read aloud.
"It means that they think that no one's at fault," he said patronizingly.
"I know that! I meant that I don't understand what these two articles have to do with one another," she miffed and shoved his attache case away from The Magic Bullet Newsletter.
"Well, if you read on further in The Magic Bullet, you'll see that they attribute that accident," he motioned to the screen and back to the newspaper, "with this being the common denominator."
"That's a pretty big leap of logic, Mulder. Even for you, I might add."
"Well, that's why I think we should go to New York. And you could be right, Agent Scully. But that's what we're here to do, right? Investigate the possibilities?"
"At 8:00 a.m. this morning, we're here to discuss the conclusions of our last investigation with our superior, Mulder. This alien nonsense will have to wait for another day."
"Aren't you the least bit teensie weensie curious as to how they really died?"
"I'm sure the question will be eating me all morning in Skinner's office. As of now, we are officially forty-five minutes late, and that will be our only destination."
Assistant Director Walter Skinner's Office, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
April 14th, 2000, 8:25 a.m.
"Agent Scully?" Skinner's assistant Kim snapped Scully to attention from his outer office couch, and she sprang up from it like a cricket on a hot skillet. "He'll see you now." Kim opened the door for her, and Scully warily trudged into the inner office.
"Morning, Agent," Skinner greeted her sincerely from his chair and stood briefly until she sat.
"Good morning, sir," Scully returned humbly. She kept the posture of a confident FBI agent, but her eyes rarely traveled to meet his at first.
"I just wanted to let you know that this is not a performance evaluation, Agent, this is an expenses audit. So you can relax on that account. I apologize for my curtness over the phone, but when I received this report from accounting, to the say the least--I was rather...shocked."
"Shocked, sir?"
"According to Bureau regulations, the senior agent amongst two partners carries the FBI credit card. But it's the other partner's responsibility to make sure that it is being used moderately. Does this come as a surprise to you, Scully?"
"No, sir."
"Are you sure? Because I see some rather extravagant purchases being made here. And we are going to go through this list, item by item until I am satisfied that these charges are explained."
"Of course."
"Now I understood Mulder's reason for going to New York...from Mulder's point of view. I'd like to hear an objective perspective for once, so start from the beginning, Agent."
Mulder's Apartment, Alexandria
April 7th, 2000, 8:45 a.m.
"Mulder? Mulder, are you here?" Scully inquired as she let herself into his flat and began to inspect it for any signs of life. She meandered into his kitchen and touched the stove. It was stone cold as well as the coffee sitting in the pot on its hot plate. This was so unlike him to not answer his cell or home phone.
Scully started towards his bedroom and just as she felt under the covers for him, he surprised her from behind in little more than a towel wrapped around his waist. "Jesus, Mulder!" she screamed.
"Morning, beautiful," he smirked and wrinkled his forehead. His hair was soaking wet and unkempt. His chin looked scrubby as well. He'd better shave before we get back to the office.
"Do you have any idea of how late you are for our meeting with Skinner?"
"We had a meeting with Skinner?"
"Practically an hour ago, yes. I tried calling you on your phones."
"Oh. Sorry. I turned my cell phone off, and I unplugged my home phone last night. I was really tired, and I wanted to be sure that I could get some sleep." He sauntered back into his bathroom and began to roughly towel his hair.
"And did you?"
"Yeah--it was nice. I got eight hours, I think."
"What time did you get to sleep?"
"About eleven thirty. Thanks for coming over, by the way."
"Mulder, it's nearly nine."
"What?" He threw the towel back onto the floor and got out an electric razor.
"It's almost nine o'clock now," she checked her watch and stood in the doorjamb. "Did you set your watch forward one hour before you went to bed last night?"
"Oh, crap. We're not in Missouri anymore, I forgot."
"Did you finish your notes?"
"Notes, what notes?" Mulder, you are not doing this to me on this morning of all mornings.
"The notes I was supposed to have last night so I could type them up for Skinner this morning," she sighed as he started to shave and eye himself in the mirror. "Well, can I assume that you might have typed them up yourself either on the plane or before you got your proper nine hours of sleep?"
"I started on them, but didn't get too far. I got an email from the Gunmen last night. Wanna see it?" Mulder rushed out of the bathroom with the razor still running in one hand, grabbed the papers from his printer, and shoved them into Scully's stomach. She barely just caught them as he crossed over the bathroom threshold.
"What is this?"
"It's their newspaper. Come on, Scully, you've seen The Magic Bullet before."
"In a much more organized format, yes."
"I guess it must be a draft or something. Go on, read it." He scrambled back into his bedroom and hurried to get a pair of boxers on--but not before dropping his towel in front of Scully. She would have had a very good view if she had not been reading.
"Says here that a Rockette in New York and a truck driver got into a crash because of a restaurant run by two aliens," she read.
"There's more. Go on." Mulder buttoned his shirt and zipped his pants up.
"Many other New York citizens have also been terrorized by these two miscreants. Sources reveal that after his lunch break, a painter lost his balance on a scaffolding and fell five stories to his death. Other customers have complained of dizziness, headaches, and shortness of breath."
"My Washington Post this morning made no mention of that information."
"Mulder..."
"The New York Police Department just hasn't gotten its act together, yet, Scully. They're trying to say that the truck driver had been high and that the Rockette wasn't paying attention to the traffic. And it's up to us to stop the aliens from wreaking any further havoc on that poor city."
"Not to say that I'm in complete disagreement with you, Mulder, but how do we know that they're aliens?"
"Dear Abby, today my partner of seven years has finally acknowledged that aliens do exist. Do I propose to her now or wait until I've got the ring?" He waited for some kind of negative reaction. When she said nothing, he shrugged. "Read on, dear Scully, read on."
"Narcissus' Ochroid Patella is the name of the restaurant--owned by a Drew and Angela Robinson, who look nearly just like celebrated movie stars Richard Gere and Jodie Foster?"
"Yep. What kind of regular people that look like Richard Gere and Jodie Foster would just own a restaurant? They probably modeled themselves to appear like that because being light years away from our planet would limit their collection to certain pictures available of human life. And who is the best depiction of celebrating human life? The rich and most famous, of course." He took out two different ties and slung them across his shoulders separately. "Scully, I need your opinion on something."
"Hmm?"
"The metallic green or the silver one?"
"What on earth are you...--oh." Scully's eyes left the newsletter and made contact with the neckties. "You're wearing a maroon colored shirt, Mulder. Silver. The other tie is cranberry."
"Thanks." Mulder flung the other tie onto his chiffonier and returned to the doorway. "Man, that was cranberry? I don't think I own any shirts that match that color. Guess I must have mixed it up with the group of ties sitting next to it in the store. You know, that makes me so angry."
"What does?"
"45 of American males are colorblind, but yet the department stores continue to stock cranberry and metallic green ties next to one another."
"Maybe they're run by aliens, too," Scully joked. "Come on, Mulder, we're extraordinarily late, and I can already feel the wrath of Skinner."
"Speaking of feeling things, do I meet with your approval, Admiral Scully?" He seized her empty hand and together with his own stroked his left cheek. "You were giving me the 'Mulder, your face is an overgrown jungle' expression."
"I don't ever remember giving you one of those before," she pulled away and gave him the printed sheets back. "But yes, your skin feels nice."
"Good. Can we take your car to work today? My car's just run out of steering fluid, and you know how good I am at parallel parking."