--- EPISODE ONE --- : FBI Headquarters : Washington D.C. : 12:35am He always knew when she was angry. Especially when it was deep down inside, when she was determined not to reveal it. For her to show it, to reveal that anger to the outside world, would be a weakening, a dilution of her strength; so she would maintain a quiet calm, an air of tranquillity, a smoke screen. And she was so very, very, good at deploying that screen around herself. But still, he always knew. Mulder watched her cross the office, her walk unhurried and precise. She pulled a chair up to the other side of the desk, and sat down. With a barely audible sigh, she picked up one of the files that she had left neatly stacked there, spreading it open in front of her, and smoothing out the papers with the palms of her hands. Not once did she make eye contact with him. He picked up his pencil and started sucking the end, contemplatively. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat. "Scully -" She looked up, smiled, and inclined her head slightly. "Yes?" "Are you OK?" He stroked his fingers slowly up and down the length of the pencil. Her eyes went to the movement of his hands, and she raised her eyebrows. He felt his face redden, and stopped the motion of his fingertips at once. She smiled again. "I'm fine." Mulder put down the pencil, and leaned towards her. "It's just that -" "Mulder, I'm fine." She turned her attention back to the file. Reluctantly, he went back to his own work, leafing through a rather dry report about the mysterious theft of three litres of frozen turtle semen from the Zoology Department at Baltimore University. After about three minutes, during which time neither of them had spoken, Mulder pushed his chair back from the desk, and interlaced his fingers behind his neck. He reclined slightly and looked up at the ceiling. "I was thinking of trying that new Mexican diner for lunch," he volunteered. "You know the one, over on East Sixtieth." "Pendrell and I already tried it," said Scully, still not taking her gaze off the file. "The service is dreadful." "Pendrell?" He looked at her with disbelief. "What, *you* and Agent Pendrell?" She looked up and met his stare without flinching. "I think that's what I said." "You and Pendrell went there?" "Mulder, is your hearing giving you trouble today?" "Uh, no ... it's just that ..." He drew in a long breath and whistled it out through his teeth. "You and Agent Pendrell, eh?" "Uh-huh." She nodded. "So - uh - was this a date then?" "Mulder, when two colleagues decide to spend some social time together, it doesn't automatically become a date. There is such a thing as team building and establishing emotional bonds." "Team building," Mulder repeated, skeptically. "Establishing emotional bonds. Right." "I happen to think that Agent Pendrell is a valuable asset to the Bureau, and I wanted to invest some time in getting to know him better." "So, did he ask you, or was it the other way around?" Scully looked at her watch, then completely side-stepped the question. "And, talking of eating, I'm about ready for lunch -" Mulder jumped out of his chair, and whipped his jacket off the back of it. He was around to her side of the desk before she could finish her sentence, and stood hovering behind her, like an anxious mother waiting to lift her baby out of its pram. She looked up at him, her mouth still open from the sentence that she had been forced to leave incomplete. "I know just the place." He grinned. "What I was about to say," she explained, with another sigh. "Is that I'd arranged to meet a friend for a bite to eat." "But -" Mulder allowed her to push gently past him, catching just the faintest whiff of her perfume before she was out the door. "See you later, Mulder," she called behind her. Yep. She was really angry this time. He started wondering about possible causes. Thinking back, there *was* the unfortunate incident with the mutant bull elephant and the tub of Double Chocolate ice cream, but that was three weeks ago. And being volunteered to join in a game of strip poker with those three mind-reading shoplifters in Seattle probably hadn't gone down too well, either. Nah, if anything, it would *have* to have been that business with the non-PVC shrink wrap and the two necrophilic dwarves. Yeah, had to be. Then something about the phrases that she'd used came right back at him, and hit him square in the face. "Team building! Establish emotional bonds!" Where had he read that recently? Suddenly, Mulder slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand, and went straight to his desk drawer. Locked. Where was the damn key? Uh, yeah ... filing cabinet, second drawer down, under 'K'. Locating the key, he hurriedly unlocked the drawer and started rummaging around amongst the back issues of 'What UFO?', and the bootleg 'Vivacious Vixens' videos. Finally he found it, and pulled it out triumphantly. A photocopy: Department of Justice Federal Bureau of Investigation Performance Appraisal Peer Feedback Scully, Dana K. He flipped through the pages of designer graphics and multiple choice questions, pausing occasionally to try and distinguish his own appalling handwriting,scrawled within the boundaries of the gaudy comment boxes. Section 5.2 Team Building He read what he'd put there. Read it twice. Three times. Ouch! Section 5.5 Establish Emotional Bonds Mulder had a *really* bad feeling about this one, even before he started reading the comments that he'd made. He wasn't to be disappointed. As the blind panic started to set in, he rushed around to the other side of the desk, found Scully's desk diary, and opened it on today's date: 11:00 Performance Appraisal, AD Skinner's Office. "Shit!" Whoa, hold on, Mulder, any of your comments would be one amongst many. What about all the other people that she'd have nominated to give input into her Performance Appraisal? What with all of that completely *anonymous* feedback, how could she *possibly* know what he had said? He looked across at the photocopied sheet, lying there, accusingly, just across the desk from him. He snatched it up and started reading section 5.2 again. 'Whilst Agent Scully clearly displays the potential to become an effective and insightful leader, she tends to place an over-reliance upon traditional procedural methodologies in situations where a more instinctive approach might be a more effective motivator.' Mulder groaned. What had he been *on* when he wrote that? He turned a couple of pages, found section 5.5 again, and almost couldn't bear to look ... 'I believe that Agent Scully has a tendency towards shielding her true feelings from those around her. Whilst this is to be admired as a highly professional character trait, it can occasionally lead to tensions with colleagues who may find her, at times, a complex person to relate to.' "Shit! Shit! Shit!" He threw the document down, and started pacing back and forth in front of the desk. He *knew* it had been a bad idea to try and be a bit more conscientious about filling in the form this year. Why couldn't he have just stuck to 'An effective team builder', or 'works well with her colleagues'? Wasn't that what everyone else wrote on those stupid forms? After all, it's what everyone wrote on his! He heard a soft cough from behind him, and turned around to see Scully, arms crossed, standing in the doorway. Her face was serious, and her eyebrows were just, ever so slightly, arched into the beginnings of a scowl. She looked at him, the discarded feedback booklet, and then at her open desk diary. "Uh, Scully -" "Mulder?" "- I was just -" "Going through my diary?" She took a step towards him. "Um, well ... say ... weren't you going out to meet a friend for lunch?" "Yes I was." She reached past him and closed the diary. "But I remembered something that I had to do first." "Oh?" She picked up the diary and started searching for a free slot, eventually stopping at the page for Friday. Without looking at him, she picked up the phone and dialled an extension. Nervously, he rocked back and forth on his heels, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "Uh, Scully I haven't, by any chance, done something to upset you, have I?" With the handset resting on her shoulder, her diary in one hand, a pen in the other, she turned back to face him. A very slight grin creased the edges of her mouth, as her eyes strayed onto the open feedback form. Mulder's eyes also came to rest on the same document. "Nothing springs to mind, Mulder ... Oh, hello, Maria, this is Dana. If you're still on for that chat, I can make this Friday ... about two pm? Fine. See you then." She put the phone down. Mulder stood there looking at her, the unspoken question obvious on his face. When it became clear that she had no intention of volunteering any information, he casually said, "Maria? That's Maria D'Enrico, right?" "Uh-huh." Scully nodded, as she scribbled down an entry in the diary. "Over in Practice and Policy?" "Yes, Mulder." Scully sighed, making ready to leave. "Uh, didn't I hear that they were looking for a new Agent in Charge?" "Yes, you did; and, yes, they are." "Scully, you're not - um - thinking of applying are you?" "Well, as you always say, Mulder, it's important to keep your mind open to extreme possibilities." "Yeah, but Practice and Policy? I mean, come on, Scully." "Don't you think I'm capable?" "No, it's not that, but -" "Anyway it's just a chat." She signalled that the conversation was at an end, by taking a step towards the door. "Nothing's been decided. There are plenty of other openings." "Scully!" He hadn't meant it to come out in such a desperate tone, but somehow he felt like he had just got himself caught in a whirlpool, and everything he did just sent him spinning closer towards the centre. "What?" "Um ... Look, if this is about your appraisal -" "Yes?" She raised her eyebrows, and folded her arms again. "I mean the whole point of peer reviews is to be open and - " "And?" "- receptive to ... feedback." Almost as soon as he'd said it, he knew it had been the wrong thing. Totally the wrong thing. "Oh, I almost forgot. This is yours, I believe." She reached into one of her pockets and tossed him the spare key to the top drawer of his desk. "Well, I'll see you later, Mulder." He stared down at the key in the palm of his hand, only barely registering the click of the door closing behind her. --- --- --- : "Oubliez la Nourriture" : Speciality French Cuisine Restaurant : 63211 North Sixty-Eighth Boulevard : Washington D.C. : 1:04 pm Scully studied her wrist watch again, slowly tracing the tip of her index finger around the circumference of the glass. Behind the crystal face, and the hand engraved dial, the complex mechanism of cogs and gears worked unthinkingly to translate the passage of time into the rotational movement of the tiny hands, driven only by the angular momentum imparted by the stored energy in the tightly wound spring. She'd always preferred a mechanical movement to the clinical micro-electronic precision of a digital timepiece. There was something that was so much closer to the way things actually worked that appealed to her, something about the need to carefully regulate and control the energy in the spring; to tame the fundamental physical forces of nature, and bend them to do one's bidding. She took another sip of still mineral water, and started one more slow visual scan of the restaurant, deserted apart from her and an elderly couple at the table diagonally opposite; and they looked as if they were both about to collapse into two heaps, and quietly crumble away to dust. From out of nowhere, a woman's hand gently reached out and touched her on the sleeve. She spun around. "Hello, Dana. Long time, no see." Doctor Scully beamed an infectious smile at her, as she settled down into the chair opposite. "Uh, Doctor ..." Just like last time, it took Scully a few moments to recover from the shock of suddenly coming face to face with her identical twin. Identical, that is, apart from the fact that Scully wore an all-business dark blue pants suit, while the Doctor was dressed in a flamboyant scarlet Edwardian long coat, bright yellow trousers, and wore a gaudy rainbow coloured scarf around her neck. "You know, it must be all of ... two hundred years," the Time Lord continued, "... as the exo-temporal crow flies, that is." "- Two hundred years?" "Yes, yes," She waved her hand about in front of her. "And a terribly busy couple of centuries it's been too -" "But we only said goodbye to you a few -" Scully could still see the image of the TARDIS console room, littered with bottles, cans, and paper plates; the fallout from the long party that had followed her acquittal on charges of copyright infringement, and, of course, the Doctor's defeat of her arch enemy, the Manipulator. "Days? Weeks? ... Oh, quite possibly. Time is such tricky stuff after all." She clapped her hands together. "Anyway, I don't know about you ... Mais, j'aimerais un verre de vin rouge ... Et pour toi?" The Doctor waved a hand regally above her head, attracting the disapproving glare of the head waiter. "Uh ... Oui, c'est une tres bonne idee." Only after she'd finished the sentence, did Scully realise exactly what she'd said, or rather, in *what* language; and the strangely 'English' tone of her voice, the poorly achieved pronunciation of the 'R' against the roof of her mouth; the very non-Scullyness of it struck her at once. The two women looked at one another for several seconds, before the Doctor tapped her index fingers against her temples and grinned. "Jolly interesting things, space/time- transcending empathic links," she admitted. Scully said nothing, and the Doctor could see that she was deep in thought. The fact that Mulder wasn't present seemed to hint at some trouble between them. The very thought of his name sent a slight tremble through her body, as she involuntarily recalled her somewhat un- Time Lord behaviour, that night in the Time Ship. "I came as soon as I could," said the Doctor. "As soon as I got your message ... So what is it this time? ... Those Mutant Mega-Mice from Mars haven't been making nuisances of themselves again have they?" "No," said Scully, shaking her head slowly. "No, it's much worse than that." --- --- --- : Department of Turtle Behavioural Studies : University of Washington State : 1:11 pm "And, as you can see, this specimen exhibits all of the classic aspects of turtle physiology." With no hint of expression or emphasis in either her body language, or the intonation of her voice, Marita Covarrubias began to bring her lecture to a close. She held up the Australian pygmy turtle for everyone to see. The creature poked its tiny head out of its shell, regarded her with tired eyes, then retracted its head and limbs back under the relative safety of its carapace. Carefully she replaced him in the glass tank, and looked up to face her audience. "Well, thank you all for your time." A hollow, slow, clap came from the back row of the lecture theatre, where Alex Krycek had been sitting patiently, polishing his prosthetic arm with a chamois leather. Cigarette Smoking Man looked back up to him and scowled. The two of them were the only other people in the room besides Marita. "Well?" she asked, shuffling nervously. "Very enlightening." CSM popped another strip of nicotine gum in his mouth and began chewing. "I'm sure that Assistant Director Skinner will be positively enthralled." A loud cough came from the back row, and they both looked at Krycek, who was barely able to contain his disbelief. "Yes, Krycek?" "Use your heads." Krycek stood up, and started making his way to the front of the lecture hall, swinging his artificial arm at his side. "Skinner isn't a fool. He's not going to be taken in by this charade!" "But that's exactly where you're wrong," said CSM, now chewing frantically in an effort to drive the picture of an open packet of Morleys from his mind. "*Because* he isn't a fool, he will immediately know that he is being set up. Therefore, he will play along with our scheme to find out what it is that we are planning, not knowing that we know that he knows." "Jesus!" Krycek exclaimed sarcastically, as he stepped up onto the podium to join Marita. "I bow before your deviousness!" "So you should," said CSM, very seriously. Marita watched Krycek with suspicion, as he reached into the tank and extracted the turtle. "In Moscow," he said, taking a Swiss Army Knife from his pocket, "raw turtle in the shell, is normally washed down with triple grain vodka." Marita looked on, open mouthed, as the synthetic-armed man carefully sliced open the turtle's shell around its circumference. Krycek opened his mouth wide as he brought the struggling creature up to his lips, obviously preparing to consume it whole, just as if he were about to suck at an oyster. --- --- --- : Somewhere over the White House It hovered there. Big didn't even begin to describe it. Huge was better. Immense, massive, enormous; all of those adjectives were in the right ball park, but they still didn't quite convey the sense of scale. Imagine a deep pan pepperoni with double mushrooms and extra olives. Then think of the stone from one of those olives. Think of it sitting alongside the pizza. Got that picture in your mind? OK. Well, that olive stone is really fifteen kilometres long, and it represents the total area occupied by Washington D.C. The deep pan pepperoni? Well, that's a non-terrestrial battle cruiser that's powering up its weapons in readiness to begin the subjugation of the entire human race.