Vienen

Fade up on the Galpex-Orpheus Platform, an oil rig 158 miles off the coast of Texas in the Gulf of Mexico. It's the dinner hour; inside the rig, the oil workers are eating meat and watching hockey. That's writer's shorthand for "Manly," by the way. All of them are kind of greasy, which I guess makes sense, what with all the oil all over the place and everything. The oil workers holler at the TV screen. Interesting that this crew -- who are, I assume, from many places around the globe -- are all united in cheering for one team. Maybe oil is some kind of uniting force. Maybe this particular oil is a uniting force, anyway. The mess hall here in the rig looks like a sports bar -- a sports bar with a big old slab of roast beef where the beer nuts usually are, and let me just tell you, if such a bar were anywhere near my house, I would be there every single night, because I like meat and I love sports. It's true. And yet, I have no boyfriend. It puzzles me. Now that I'm unemployed, I have a lot of time to think about things like that; like, why don't I have a job, or a boyfriend? Am I undesirable in every single aspect of my person? Then I go to the kitchen to eat some Pirate's Booty to cheer myself up, but I don't have any left, because I ate it all for breakfast. I weep for the future. But enough about me (as if). Two crew members exchange wild and furtive glances. These guys appear to be the only Hispanic guys in the mess hall, and actually look very much alike. One has Curly Hair, so I'll call him...wait for it...Curly. So as to differentiate him from, um, Not Curly. Curly and Not Curly toss each other the most obvious "we're in cahoots -- don't tell!" looks since Rebecca and Gwen teamed up to destroy Ethan and Theresa's engagement on Passions. I can only hope that Curly's and Not Curly's plan, like Gwen's and Rebecca's, leads to a fancy dress ball, a couple of people being disowned, a miscarriage, the dissolution of two marriages and, indirectly, half of the town's being sucked into the depths of hell. Mid-furtive glance, the TV loses reception. The oil workers yell in frustration. One of the workers bangs the top of the television, the way we used to have to do at my parent's house if we wanted to get decent reception before my Mom and Dad gave in and got cable. The picture comes back in. The workers cheer. The one who fixed the TV does the Dance of Joy. I remember, back in 1993, I was a freshman at UCLA and our football team was in the Rose Bowl and the TV went out on New Year's Eve (the day before the game) and my entire family had a heart attack en masse and had to run out, again en masse, and buy a new TV immediately. My dad did that same dance when we got the new set home and plugged it in. While the oil workers rejoice, Not Curly watches as the rig's cook stabs his carving knife into the heel of the roast beef and wanders over to watch the game. Not Curly and Curly look furtively at one another and then at the knife.

Later -- but not a whole lot later -- Curly sneaks off somewhere, furtively. Furtively sneaking. Sneaking furtively. He furtively sneaks for, like, forty-five minutes.

The oil rig's communications room. A guy with a tall blonde pompadour is fiddling with some kind of radio-like thing (I don't know from electronics). Enter Curly, furtively. Pompadour cheerfully greets him in Spanish, and I am pleased to discover that I remember enough of my junior high school Español to translate what he's asking: "How was the meat?" Real sparkling conversationalist, that Pompadour. Curly just looks furtive. Pompadour continues to make chipper conversation in basic Spanish, as Curly fingers the knife he pinched from the mess hall. He then just up and stabs the hell out of Pompadour, whose screams aren't heard over the cheers of the oil workers watching the hockey game. See? Sports kill. I recently sprained my ankle jumping up and down during a Lakers game, so they're also just plain dangerous for the uncoordinated.

Upstairs in the mess hall, the TV goes out again. A guy I'm calling Foreman (because he's wearing his hard hat in the mess hall, not because he looks like Topher Grace, and more's the pity) vigorously bangs the top of the set, to no avail. He wonders aloud about the whereabouts of their "illustrious communications officer," who, naturally, is not there, being quite busy getting stabbed to death.

Foreman goes down to the communications room, looking for Pompadour, but only finds Curly beating the hell out of their radio equipment. And then he sees Pompadour, dead on the floor. "Oh, man," Foreman groans. He and Curly both watch as those black oil worm things crawl up Pompadour's face, under the skin. Oh, so when they say they're working on an oil rig, it's that oil. Too bad I don't really remember any of the details about that oil. Wasn't that, like, three years ago? I have other stuff to remember, 1013, like my social security number, and whether Buffy is a rerun or not. "Now you've gone and done it," Foreman remarks. Curly tries to bolt, but Foreman roughly throws him to the ground and blocks the door. As Curly screams, Foreman begins to glow, as if from within. And not like the satisfied glow of a man with a belly full of roast beef and beer, but more like the creepy and extraterrestrial glow of a guy with a x-ray machine in his gut. Curly screams in agony and fear. And we have yet another new and wack symptom of the infamous black oil: the ability to check for broken bones and cavities using only the supernatural abilities of one's own body.

Credits. The action figures inform me that they don't think they're going to watch this episode. "The Sopranos is on," the Scully points out. But I only have one TV with cable reception, and I'm bigger than they are. Also, they got me into this. I'll be damned if I'll let them leave me alone with it.

FBI HQ. 8:57 AM. Doggett walks to the Lush Basement Office, reading what I can tell from the font is the Los Angeles Times sports section. He reaches down to open the office door, and finds it locked. He fumbles for his keys, opens the door, and finds Special Agent Fox"y" Mulder, poring through some files. Doggett snippily asks whether he's interrupting something. Nothing Doggett would be interested in, Mulder snarks. Yawn. Manly Pissing Contest 2001: Part Two is officially underway. Mulder explains that he's looking into the recent death of an oil rig worker. Doggett placidly remarks that "Mooooooulder" already gave him the heads up about that case. Mulder leans against the wall and snipes that he's just following up. Doggett sighs and says that (a) it's not his fault Mooooooulder isn't assigned to the X-Files anymore, but (b) Doggett, didn't think it was an X-File. Okay, here's my question: if Mulder isn't assigned to the X-Files, what is his new job at the Bureau? Is he back in Violent Crimes? Is he, like, a floater, who goes from department to department, filling in for agents on sick leave? Is he supposed to be upstairs in Skinner's office, filing stuff? I know that this is a point that isn't going to matter for more than, oh, forty-seven minutes, but if he's off the X-Files, shouldn't he be reassigned? And shouldn't that be addressed? Is he getting a new partner? Is he doing desk work? I hate how this plot point is just ignored because the writers know that they're not going to have to follow through with it. Anyway, Mulder wonders whether Doggett "missed the fact that" the dead guy had "flash burns on ninety percent of his body." Doggett sort of shrugs. Mulder sits on his desk. Scully's desk. Whatever. He sits down wherever, and points out that another oil-rig worker is also mysteriously missing. Doggett naturally assumed that both of them met their gory ends because, you know, the rig had an explosion. And explosions burn and kill people. Mulder points out that Curly's burns weren't just your average burns. They were wacky burns! So? So! Mulder stresses that the burns are consistent with certain cases in the X-Files regarding exposure to.... "Black oil," Doggett finishes for him. Mulder nods. Doggett brings us all up to speed on the entire black-oil plot point by reciting that the oil is a "highly contagious virus of extra-terrestrial origin that has radioactive properties and can take over a man's body and is part of an alien conspiracy to colonize the planet." Yes, that covers about the last four seasons, thanks. Mulder smirks. "And you'd like to help, but you left your light saber at home," he says. "Yes," Doggett says. "Skinner is in charge of where I put my light saber." Oh, that was so bad. I'm really sorry. Really, Doggett just smirks back. Smirk. Smirk. It's a real smirkathon, with these two. Mulder comments that he's sorry Doggett got stuck down the basement. "Kersh catch you peeing in his cornflakes?" he wonders. Stare. Stare.

The phone rings, interrupting Testosterone Fest 2001: The Staring Contest. Both men reach for it. Finally, Mulder picks it up, but hands the receiver to Doggett. It's Scully, who tells them that she and Skinner are waiting for him in Kersh's office. She wearily asks why Doggett's pursuing the oil-worker case without telling her. He sighs that he's not. Scully informs him that she's looking at an executive from the oil company who was contacted by a man in their office. Doggett's all, duh, that was Mulder. Scully's all, what? And that kicks off the weirdest aspect of this episode, which was not the plot, but simply the fact that everyone is acting completely out of character, except Doggett. Of course it was Mulder. Going against orders? Sneaking around behind Kersh's back? That's classic Mulder. What did Scully think he was doing with himself, anyway? Maybe he's supposed to be at home, painting the nursery and coming up with names for their alien love child.

Kersh's office. Enter Mulder. "Just like old times," he snarks. Let's see, Mulder going off half-cocked, and inadvertently forcing Scully to cover his ass? Yeah, that sounds about right. You'd think he'd have learned something from being buried alive, even if it was just to give his partner the heads-up that they're both about to get in hot water again. Don't get me wrong: I like Mulder. A lot. But he never learns, does he? Skinner shoots Mulder an exhausted look. Scully's hair, by the way, has completely reverted to the Flatness of Season Seven. Scully stares at Mulder, purses her lips, and eases her massively pregnant self onto Kersh's sofa. "Now it's all making sense," Kersh spits. Doggett comes in and sort of lurks in the background as Kersh introduces the agents to Mr. Ortega, the aforesaid Oil Company Executive. Mulder's like, yeah, I talked to him. Kersh disdainfully wonders who informed certain government officials that the FBI was investigating the accident. "That'd be me as well," Mulder says. He explains that an investigation is in the best interests of both the FBI and Mr. Ortega. Kersh spits that, actually, it's not. Ortega comments that his company has found a whole bunch of new oil under the Gulf of Mexico, and they're angling for the rights to drill it, but they might face some opposition from Mexico, because the oil reserves could stretch into Mexican waters. Because Curly was a "Mexican national," Ortega is concerned that his death will be used as an excuse to abandon the project. Mulder says that this case has nothing to do with oil. Which, technically, is a total, bald-faced lie. Ortega is all, for me it does. Kersh snips that they need to investigate the entire mess as quickly and quietly as possible, in order to make the path clear for American interests to drill. Mulder points out that an investigation probably won't do much to help American oil interests, but Kersh interrupts him, telling him that he's "done enough." Mulder brats that Kersh doesn't know what he's dealing with. Kersh grits his teeth. "Yes, I do," he says. "It's an X-File," Mulder says. "I'm sending someone from the X-Files to investigate," Kersh comments, quietly. For him. Mulder's eyebrows go right off the top of his head. "You're talking about an oil rig 150 miles out to sea!" he exclaims. "You can't send a pregnant woman!" On the sofa, Scully sighs. "I'm sending Agent Doggett, you nimrod," Kersh says. Inside his head. Mulder, realizing that Doggett's getting the call, rolls his eyes. Doggett cocks his brow.

Twenty-six hours later. Fancy oil-rig set. A helicopter drops off Doggett, all decked out in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Now, Robert Patrick isn't my type, physically speaking (I always go for the Mulder-looking types), but he looks pretty dreamy in civilian gear. Can Doggett be growing on me? I think Doggett is sort of growing on me. The chopper also drops off a new communications specialist for the rig, whose name I don't catch. He looks like Biff from Back to the Future, though, so that'll do for now. Doggett introduces himself to the guy who met the helicopter, who seems surprised to see him. Doggett explains, again, that he's from "the Bureau." He wonders whether the rig's radio is out. Meet and Greet explains that they still have ship-to-shore, but he was told that only one agent was coming. "I'm the one agent," Doggett says, as he follows Meet and Greet down the expensive stairs of the expensive set. "Then who's the guy who got here this morning?" Meet and Greet asks. Doggett stops dead on the steps and makes a disgusted face. Okay, as I've already said, I'm fond of Mulder. But for God's sweet sake, if I were Doggett, I'd want to throttle him. Doggett is honestly just trying to do his best in this job that he sort of doesn't get, and Mulder is making it as hard for him as possible, not maliciously, but because he's just sort of emotional, which makes him unthinking and kind of impetuous. Dude, when did I become a Doggett apologist? "I don't like this new development in your character at all," the Mulder action figure says sharply, from his perch on my right knee. The Scully looks up from her book, a dog-eared copy of The Autobiography of F.B.I Special Agent Dale Cooper: My Life, My Tapes. "You know who I like?" she asks. "This guy. I think he'd make an excellent partner for Agent Doggett, when it comes to that. He has all that experience with, you know, weird stuff. And he's so good-looking!" The Mulder action figure clears his throat. "Sorry," the Scully says, not at all contritely.

Doggett finds Mulder confabbing with Foreman. In keeping with the Casual Friday on the Oil Rig Dress Code of this episode, Mulder is all decked out in his Requisite Grey T-Shirt of Authority Flouting and Rule Breaking. "Agent Moooooulder, can I have a word with you?" Doggett asks. Mulder just glances at Doggett and tells him to pull up a chair and get caught up. Stare. Stare. Stare. Stare. Foreman spouts a bunch of clichés, about how working on an oil rig is like doing "hard time," and that some of the men get "cabin fever" and can "go off the deep end." Is that a pun? You know, because, they could jump into the ocean? Or does he mean it literally...oh, whatever. Doggett asks about "the victim, Simon deeeeeeeeee la Cruz." Foreman's professional opinion is that Curly "just went off his nut." Doggett wonders how going crazy can lead to one's being covered with horrible burns. Foreman shrugs, and explains that Crazy Curly tried to blow the entire rig sky-high. Naturally, he got caught in the flames. And what about the missing communications guy? "A man can die out here, just going for a walk. No one knew he was dead until the shift change." Foreman is a big fat liar, and a bad one. Mulder solemnly thanks him and gets up to go. Doggett chases after him. Foreman watches them go, and the black oil drifts down into his eyes, the way it does. He blinks and it disappears.

Doggett continues to chase Mulder across the very expensive set. "Agent Moooooulder!" he calls. "Don't walk away when I'm talking to you! I was assigned to this case. One call to the Deputy Director, and you're canned for insubordination!" Mulder keeps walking. "You can't call," he says shortly. Seems the radio is broken. Didn't we just hear that ship-to-shore was working? For the fourth time, whatever. The two manly agents manfully walk around the rig, looking manly. There's enough testosterone on this set to...God, I can't seem to think of a way to finish that sentence that doesn't completely gross me out, so I'll leave you to your own devices with that one. "Don't push me," Doggett snaps at Mulder, who's just slightly ahead of him. Mulder turns. The men stand nose to nose. Manly posturing. Manly posturing. Doggett reminds Mulder that he's in charge. It's his way, or the highway. Mulder is all, whatever. He snidely wonders what sort of story Doggett is planning to spin for Kersh. Doggett snappishly tells Mulder not to stereotype him. Taking a different tack, he asks Mulder why Foreman is lying. "He knows the truth, and he's not the only one," Mulder sniffs. Doggett shakes his head. "You could find a conspiracy in a church picnic," he says. "What church?" Mulder smirks. Wow, that was an incredibly bad comeback. Mulder stomps off. Doggett rolls his eyes and looks heavenward, as if for guidance. He actually looks faintly amused. Looking up at him through the metal grid of the rig's floor, from inside what must be the bowels of the structure, is Not Curly. And the plot thickens.

Back at the FBI, Scully is performing yet another autopsy. The FBI's going to be screwed when she's on maternity leave, because, apparently, they have no other employee capable of running an autopsy. Anyway, Scully's all running around the body, and her hair is in full-on Scully Autopsy Mode, all pushed behind her ears. Enter Skinner. Scully sighs that she really needs to talk to him, and she can't find Mulder at all. Now, while I completely buy that Mulder would do something against official orders, I sort of doubt that he would run off to the middle of the ocean without calling his best friend and the possible mother of his child -- who is, at any rate, massively pregnant -- to tell her where he was going. Especially since she just went through this whole drama where he was missing and presumed dead for months and it almost killed her. Skinner's all, what's up, girlfriend? Scully explains that she found something weird with Curly's body. Skinner grits that Curly's corporeal form is supposed to be well on its way back to Mexico by this point. Look who's flouting orders now? That's my girl. Scully dismisses the minor matter of returning the body to its family, and explains that she found what she did by accident, in the third ventricle of Curly's brain. She leans over the body, does some stuff with Curly's head, and a large puddle of the black oil spills out of the body's skull and onto the table. Skinner, seeing it, jumps in front of Scully's body to protect her, which is sort of sweet, and also sort of closing the barn doors after the horse is already gone, since presumably, Scully's already seen the oil once during the autopsy. She breathlessly informs him that the oil is "dead" -- it can't infect her. Not to mention that she's probably immune for any number of reasons, anyway. She explains that Curly was infected with alien virus, but it's dead. "What killed it?" Skinner asks. Scully hypothesizes that one would imagine the same thing that killed Curly killed the virus -- exposure to radioactivity -- but, obviously, that's impossible, since the virus is radioactive anyway. "Someone needs to tell Agent Doggett," Skinner says gruffly. Scully blinks and says that they need to evacuate the rig, immediately. "I can't tell that to Kersh," Skinner barks. Scully points out that Doggett is in danger of being infected himself. "We can't prove that," Skinner says. Um, okay, but what about Doggett's welfare? Shouldn't Skinner be more concerned about an agent under his direction, not to mention one who is also his red-hot lover? Maybe Skinner's attitude stems from a desire to cover up the fact that he's out of his mind with worry about Doggett. He's overcompensating. He looks at the body and raises a brow. He asks Scully why no one else on the rig is infected, if they're all in such grave danger. I don't know why Scully doesn't point out that they could all be infected, and just not be showing any symptoms, which is the truth, and an excellent response. Instead, she just stares at him and sighs.

Oil rig. Biff attempts to fix the radio. There's a weird sound - a high-frequency interference -- that he can't get rid of, as he explains to Foreman, who is acting so bloody suspicious I wonder why he doesn't just put on a t-shirt that says "I know more than I'm telling. Ask me how!" Biff comments that, in order to get rid of the interference, he needs to power down and restart. Foreman is dead set against that. So he throws Biff across the room, wrestles him to the ground, and vomits the black oil from his mouth and eyes into all of Biff's facial orifices. Biff just opens his mouth like a baby bird. Dude, when people vomit in my face, I make sure my eyes and mouth are closed up real tight. ["Y'all, that's true, but please don't ask me how I know." -- Wing Chun]

So a Marine operator tries to place a call to the Rig. There's no answer, because Biff is, you know, whatever. After a moment, though, he comes to and answers the phone. But you know he's evil now. Or possessed. Or, well, again, whatever. You know, it's hard to write a recap when you have no idea what's going on, but it's even harder to write a recap when it seems like the writers have no idea what's going on. Scully's on the line. She needs to speak to Doggett, she says. "I'm ready to take that message," Biff says, robotically. No, Scully explains, she needs to speak to Doggett directly. A manly hand falls on Biff's shoulder. "I got it," Mulder says. He sits down. "Mulder?" Scully asks. "I was just in the neighborhood," he smiles. Scully, exasperated, says for the millionth time that "it's not like old times," and that Mulder can't just run off the way he used to. Mulder sort of sighs. "They need me out here, Scully. You know that better than anyone," he says. On the other end, Scully looks tired and exasperated. "Mulllllllder," she sighs evocatively. That sigh conveyed all sorts of things, from a wish that Mulder would grow up because she needs him at home, to being exhausted by his antics, to being frustrated, because this time, he's probably right. "I hate to say it, but as of this morning, I have to agree," she says, finally, sort of closing her eyes. Mulder figures that she found something in the victim's body: "The virus," he says. "Yes, and it's dead," Scully says. She doesn't know what killed it, but she does know that Mulder and Doggett need to get off the ship. "We need to quarantine the ship," Mulder says. Scully sighs again. She tells them just to get off the ship, and that they'll quarantine them on shore. Mulder says that will never work, but doesn't explain why not. He tells her that she has the body, and with it, all the clues. "Figure out what kills the virus," he says. Scully looks pained. "What if I can't?" she asks. Mulder half-smiles. "Well, when he gets old enough, tell the kid I went down swinging." Scully sighs and rolls her eyes. Dude, she needs your help at home, with the baby! You're a father now! You have responsibilities! You can't run off everywhere on a whim anymore! This is all so Lifetime! "Let me talk to Doggett," Scully says. Mulder wrinkles his face up a little bit. "He's not here," he says, but, naturally, Doggett is right behind him. "Who's on the radio?" Doggett asks. "Who are you talking to?" And Mulder just hangs up on Scully and walks out of the room. Dude, Mulder, I love you, but...don't hang up on the pregnant lady. "Cut us a little slack here," the Mulder action figure says. "Being buried alive is really traumatic."

Doggett trots after Mulder. Again with the walking around the super-expensive oil rig set. Mulder snips that he was talking to Scully and "she says [Doggett's] lucky [Mulder's] out here." Doggett rolls his eyes yet again. "No," he says, "you're lucky I'm letting you stay." Agents Mulder and Doggett? Are twelve years old. Doggett reminds Mulder that he, John Doggett, is in charge of this operation. Then take charge, Mulder tells him, but you aren't going to enjoy it much.

Meet and Greet tells his men that the rig is being quarantined for their own protection. Manly grumblings ensue. "Protection from what?" Foreman asks. "From a possible contagion," Doggett pipes up. After more dramatic grumbling, the workers trudge off. Mulder trots up, ship's manifest in hand. "They're missing a man," he says. "Diego Garza." That's Not Curly, for those of you keeping score at home. "Well, I'll be damned," Meet and Greet says. Nice security you there on that oil rig, Meet and Greet.

Autopsy room du jour. Scully is giving a little presentation to Ortega, the oil executive, explaining why the rig needs to be shut down. Ortega is both unimpressed and unconcerned. After all, the oil company badly needs the money from the oil they're currently drilling. Scully makes a series of disgusted faces as Ortega tells her and Skinner that he's calling the crew back in. "Oh, my God," Scully mutters. Ortega stomps out as Skinner and Scully stand there with their mouths open. Catching flies, as my mother would say.

Doggett and Mulder traipse around the expensive rig set some more, ostensibly looking for Not Curly. Mulder exposits that Not Curly is listed on the manifest as "mestizo," as was Curly. They're of mixed Mexican descent, and, according to Meet and Greet, particularly good workers. But now one is dead and the other missing. Mulder muses that you'd think someone would notice if one of the rig's best workers were AWOL. Doggett: blah blah Mexican oil interests. Mulder: not. Doggett reminds Mulder that he quarantined the rig without any real evidence, but, he says, he'd like to know what the hell Mulder actually thinks is going on. Mulder says that he doesn't know. Doggett shirtily asks Mulder to let him know when he figures it out, and stalks off. Mulder rolls his eyes, and follows Doggett. He tells Doggett that, despite all evidence to the contrary, he's not trying to give Doggett a hard time. But he's seen the black-oil infestation, and it's serious. Real serious. Everyone on the rig could be infected and not even know it. Doggett reaches out and wipes some oil off a conveniently oily piece of nearby machinery. "This is going to take over me? When's it going to kick in?" he asks. Mulder explains that the oil jumps from body to body, and that he's not entirely sure how it works, exactly. And then the lightbulb goes on over his head. Mulder hypothesizes that the oil field Ortega is so jonesed about is actually already being worked. By this crew. And if that oil gets out into the general public, it could infect the entire world. Or something. Frankly, I think the logic of this episode is really very, very tenuous. I'm having issues following it, and I watched the episode three times. For example, this is the alien oil, right? But it also occurs naturally in the earth? Did we know that? Maybe I forgot that. Doggett shrugs. Mulder wonders whether Not Curly could be the only man on the ship not infected with the oil, and that's why he knows what's going on and is trying to stop it. Doggett wearily wonders, if that's the case, why Not Curly doesn't come talk to one of them, then.

Mulder's saved from having to answer that question, saved, saved by the bell. There's a fire in the communications room, and fire alarms go off all over the ship. Doggett and Mulder race, all manfully, into the fiery inferno. Mulder goes crazy with the fire extinguisher, as Doggett runs off to find his a fire extinguisher of his very own. No one else on the rig seems to care that they're all about to go up in flames. Just as Doggett is about to zip off to help Mulder with his newly discovered fire extinguisher, Not Curly bashes him on the head with yet another fire extinguisher. He falls to the ground in a pile. Dude, someone got knocked out with a fire extinguisher just last week. Whatever happened to crowbars and lead pipes?

It's, like, the middle of the night and Scully is still in the autopsy room. What happened to the bed rest, which is so totally the prescription when you have a partial abruption? Enter Kersh, dragging a kilo of Melodrama behind him in a little red wagon. He wants to know why Curly's body isn't well on its way back to Mexico. Scully stammers that she doesn't know. Enter Skinner, who's probably been camped out in the hallway, waiting to have to go in and rescue poor Scully. "I obviously haven't been able to rely on those whose jobs it is[sic] to keep me apprised and informed," Kersh grits, slowly. In the background, Skinner totally rolls his eyes. Scully blinks. "Why doesn't someone make me privy to who the hell gave the order to shut down that rig?" Kersh is dripping with contempt. Just dripping. "I did," Skinner pipes up. Kersh gives him the dirtiest of dirty looks. "Well, I'm giving this order," he says. "This quarentine is lifted." Skinner and Scully exchange pained looks. Scully points out that they can't tell the crew that; all radio contact has been cut off. As soon as it's repaired, Kersh wants that rig up and running, and the entire crew off it and de-freaking-briefed. "Sir, I think that's a mist-" Scully begins. "I think it'd be a mistake not to, Agent Scully. And you're running out of mistakes. Both you, and the Assistant Director." More pained looks. Kersh starts to go, twirling his handlebar mustache, but then turns back. He shoots the two of them a steely glare. "If I didn't know better, I'd say this was a Mulder stunt," he spits, and takes off. Disgusted look. Pained glance. Sigh. Dude, where does Kersh think Mulder actually is? I'd imagine that Kersh would want him in the office right to his, filing or pushing paper or something, just so he could keep an eye on him.

Rig. The fire's out, but all the communications equipment has been more or less gutted. Mulder finds convenient evidence of a Molotov cocktail, cockily hands it to Meet and Greet, and goes off to find Doggett.