what_wings_dare | 🅧 Please explain to me the scientific nature of 'the whammy'

"That's an argument in favor of it being a local cause-- not extraterrestrial. I don't see how saying aliens did it-- with no evidence to prove or even circumstantially support it-- is any better than throwing up our hands and saying we don't know."

She frowns, glancing back at the screen.

"The fact that science hasn't yet uncovered an answer doesn't mean it's failed her. It means there's still work to be done."

"As long as you ignore South Dakota and Texas," he cuts in, though he doubts it'll score any points with her. It's not going to convince her, but this conversation doesn't have to. If they find what Mulder thinks they'll find, she'll have to concede the point.

In the meanwhile, though, she's right about one thing - that last one. "That's why they put the "I" in F.B.I. Our plane departs for Oregon at eight AM tomorrow."

If they were continuing the argument she'd pick it up there-- certainly Texas and Oregon are closer together than Oregon and Mars, or wherever his little green men come from-- but it doesn't seem like he's inclined to stay on the subject right now. Maybe that means, if this was a test, that she passed it.

She lifts her chin a little with a small, professional smile.

"I'll see you then," she says decisively, and without anything else, turns to head for the door.

But she pauses before stepping out, hesitant. She can't say it was nice to meet you because she already has, but this doesn't feel like the moment to get into their earlier brush with investigating the unexplained. So she settles on:

"I am looking forward to working with you."

Restatement, because he hasn't scared her off, and she doesn't want him to think it's only stubbornness (even if it's largely stubbornness) that will have her at the airport on time tomorrow, packed and only slightly bleary with sleeplessness.

Turns out she's polite, even as she's stubborn and argumentative. If nothing else is true, this first little interview suggests that Dana Scully's going to be interesting to work with. Even if she's here on assassination duty, she's willing to bring her own ideas to the fore - and who knows? Maybe he can convince her.

Even if he can't, he has the feeling the next few days are going to be interesting.

In the morning, he slings his overnight bag over a shoulder and heads out to Dulles, meeting up with his new partner at the gate.

"Morning, Scully." Mulder has the irritatingly chipper manner of someone who woke up at two in the morning and made his peace with exhaustion. (It's a long ride to the other side of the country. Maybe he'll sleep then.) He holds out a sizeable foam cup of coffee to her. There's another in his other hand, already half drunk. "Ready to look at some extremely pedestrian and definitely terrestrial phenomena?"

Coffee is an acceptable peace offering. Although she's punctual to a fault, she isn't a morning person by any means-- it's willpower and duty that gets her out of bed. Though today there's a certain excited restlessness, too-- the anticipation of a new assignment, her first case in the field.

"I have the case history to review on the plane," she answers evenly. Overstuffed file folders full of dead teenagers over airline breakfast-- who wouldn't be excited?

"Did you mention extraterrestrials in your 302, Agent Mulder?" She's half-joking but doesn't sound it.

"You'll have to read it and find out." She's so prim. It's actually kind of charming, the seriousness she's affecting this early in the morning. (He'll be right there with her once they're actually in the field - not this intensely proper, but closer. Until then, though, the rules are a little different.) Waving her over to a pair of open chairs, he adds, "I'd save any reading for the plane itself, though."

Having the little tray table will probably make a difference. In the meanwhile, since they've got another ten minutes or so before anyone's going to let them aboard, he takes a seat. His legs stretch out like he's hoping to be a tripping hazard. "Unless you want to play a solitary game of I Spy, I think we're going to have to talk to each other."

"Does that mean you've decided it's safe to talk to me?" This time the humor is a little more obvious as she sits beside him, setting her bag on the floor. She couldn't take up as much space as him if she wanted to, but she's not exactly shrinking away, either-- though she makes an effort to keep the walkway clear. Fire codes, Mulder.

Fire codes, schmire codes. He's going to be cramped up in coach seat for five and a half hours; until then, he's going to sprawl. "I still fully expect you to report back to your handlers, whoever they might be. But I also recognize that we have some time to kill here."

Well, it could be worse. She immediately wants to protest-- because she is, in fact, not a spy. But to some extent... she is going to write a report on the case, of course, so she can see how he'd take it that way. Granted the only people she's working for are the same people he's working for.

"About your theory," she says, casually. Off the record, if there were one. "I still don't understand why that seems like the most logical explanation to you. There are so many things that haven't been explored yet-- things the local investigation might have missed; environmental hazards; someone with a grudge against the victim... Why jump to..."

Ahe tips her head a bit to the side, as if to say you know what. It still feels too crazy to accuse an FBI agent of wholeheartedly believing in aliens, even if he's already professed it.

"Murderers from beyond the stars," he offers jovially, since she's not willing to say it. They can leave aside the question of the legitimacy of her spying, not to mention the extent of her awareness that she's being used by powers greater than either of theirs. They still have more salient questions at hand.

And this one seems liable to make or break their work together, so he does her the service of a real answer. "Have you heard of cattle mutilations?"

"I don't think I have." She's a little bit apprehensive; it sounds a little... eccentric. That's the polite way to put it. But she needs to know what he's thinking.

"The bloodless evisceration of livestock with no clear origin or motive," he says, taking a sip of his coffee. Someone who was sitting across from them gets up and walks away - maybe because of trajectory of their conversation, maybe not. Mulder's unconcerned. "They've been documented since the seventeenth century, but there was a marked increase in the United States after 1947 - which, as I'm sure you know, is the year an alien spacecraft allegedly crash-landed on the outskirts of Roswell, New Mexico."

That allegedly is for her, naturally. "These incidents of mutilation are frequently reported after sightings of UFOs in the area. Strange lights in the sky one night, animals cut into pieces in the morning. We aren't looking at mutilations here, but we are seeing a nationwide pattern of inexplicable marks on corpses after they've been abducted - potentially by extraterrestrials. The only way to know for sure is to investigate every possibility."

Her skepticism is written plainly on her face.

"There's a big difference between mutilated cattle and murdered teenagers. Besides-- were there accounts of strange lights in Oregon?"

He raises his brows, just as an announcement comes over the intercom, announcing their departure. "There's only one way to find out."

She can't help an answering eyeroll as she grabs her bag, ready to hop up and go. At least once they get there, there'll be-- well-- something, surely. Interviews with witnesses, evidence to examine, something. Until then, she's stuck with this restlessness.

"Part of me wonders if you're hazing me."

He shoulders his bag and sets a hand high on her back, guiding them both toward the line. FBI trips are decidedly economy-oriented - they'll be getting on near the end. "I would have put more effort in if I wanted to haze you."

The palm on her back takes her by surprise. From most people it would seem patronizing, but she isn't getting that vibe from him; she doesn't complain about it. Now that he's in a better mood-- or maybe he's playing his own version of more-flies-with-honey-- his sense of personal space seems to be a bit fuzzy.

"I can believe it," she murmurs, but her tone is obviously amused as they take their place at the end of the shuffling crowd.

"So it's the similarity to the-- cattle phenomena? That drew you to this case?"

"That, and a few other things. Figuring them out should keep you busy on the way to Oregon." He pulls his ticket out of a blazer pocket as they approach the passage out to the plane. "Personally, I'm going to get some sleep."

He hopes so, anyway. If not, it's going to be a long day.

"I guess that's fair-- then we can hit the ground running."

The only flaw in that plan is, she can't use it to casually bring up their previous acquaintance. The longer it goes, the more unfair it feels to withhold it; but the more awkward it feels, too, to blurt it out.

"I'll let you know my thoughts when you wake up."

"I'll be all ears." Before then, though, he's going to be all Zzzzs. To his delight, the plane's nowhere close to full, and once they're at cruising altitude, he gets to stretch out - sort of - across three seats. Compared to the way he's usually crowded into a chair, waiting to lose all sensation in his legs, achieving a horizontal position is nothing short of bliss.

Scully probably reads the case file and scoffs at every last detail, but he wouldn't know. He's too busy listening to college rock and the din of the plane hurtling through the atmosphere.

After the plane lands, they're pushed back into the airport's flow, carrying their scant luggage away to the car rentals, where he gets behind the wheel and gives his map a quick glance before starting them off to the picturesque town of Bellefleur. Scully doesn't look quite as refreshed as he feels; he figures he'll let her start in on the case when she's ready.

He looks comfortable, and she tries not to feel jealous. Though in fairness, the economy seating doesn't bother her nearly as much. And once she starts paging through the reports she stops thinking of creature comforts, absorbed in the details of Karen Swenson's death.

After a while in the rental car, getting her thoughts together, she turns to watch him in profile.

"It wasn't clear why the previous Bureau investigation was called off," she muses.

That's a start. Mulder cuts his eyes over to her for a moment and finds her giving him a sharp, steady gaze. His lip twitches. "It wasn't clear to me, either. A couple of G-men were sent out here after the police couldn't get to the bottom of it - but after a week of absorbing the local color and expensing seafood dinners, the Bureau recalled them."

What else? There's at least one other thing he's hoping she spotted, but he's not about to give her a hint. Instead, he reaches blindly for a few sunflower seeds and pops them in his mouth.

"Hmn."

Not much to go on there-- which is curious. It's possible they just made no headway, but that's an awfully quick investigation to give up on. Which makes her suspect there's some other factor-- the likeliest, and worst option being, someone with influence deciding to bury it.

But here they are for take two. She tries again, light and casual.

"I didn't find much on the obvious suspect."

Which is to say, I suspect somebody. Now he's really intrigued - the last set who came out here didn't leave any particular persons of interest behind. Whatever's going on in her head is pure Scully.

"Who's that?" he asks - but don't answer until he's spit his mouthful of seed shells out the window.

"The medical examiner," she answers, pulling the folder back out of her bag. "A Dr... Nemman, who did the first three autopsies-- which did not mention unidentified substances or marks on the lower back. The last victim was autopsied by someone else."

She glances up at him.

"Which makes me think we may be looking at an all-too-human cover-up," she finishes.

[ n a m e ; ]	Dana Katherine Scully
[ c a n o n ; ]	The X-Files
[ g a m e ; ]	spicy times in noctiumrp

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