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

"The grave." Dramatic, a little spooky. Flippant. "I've arranged to have another of the bodies exhumed - you're going to see if you can find anything the medical examiner couldn't. Similar tissue samples, ideally."

Which should be fine, since she's a medical doctor in the FBI. This is the kind of assignment she ought to expect. All the same, he can't help but ask: "You're not squeamish about that kind of thing, are you?"

"Exhumation? It's a first." She doesn't love it-- the dead deserve some peace, and so do their families-- but scientifically it makes a fair amount of sense. "My work is usually done long before the burial."

She halfway wonders if it'll bother him that it doesn't bother her. Some people aren't comfortable with the notion of being comfortable with death; he wouldn't be the first.

It's ideal, really, that she doesn't mind working with material that's a little past its sell-by date. He certainly can't do the job with any accuracy - and this might be a problem they run into again.

If she's still here in a week or two, that is. He's not convinced she will be.

"It's my first, too," he admits, and maybe he'd go on to make an even worse joke, but the radio scrambles. And it scrambles loudly, going across stations and making an awful racket, no matter what dial he turns.

It's unbearable and unfixable - until he pulls onto the shoulder and turns off the car. And it's notable. Time to get out and grab the spray paint.

"What--"

She winces, but doesn't have time to try and fiddle with it or even cover her ears until he's pulling over. She hops out as soon as the car comes to a stop, looking at him over the roof of it as he... goes around to the trunk?

"What was that?" Also what the hell is he doing??

That's where the spray paint is, obviously. One big pink X goes on the pavement, right where they encountered the radio

"Do you want the stubbornly rational answer?" he asks, capping the paint can before tossing it back into the trunk. "Or the more theoretical option?"

"I'm interested in both," she answers, with raised eyebrows and her arms folded across her chest. Theoretical is probably not plausible, with Agent Mulder, but she can't come up with a rational option that makes much sense either.

"Rationally speaking," he says, walking back over to the driver's side door, "it's probably nothing. Sometimes radio waves do weird things - maybe this was the automotive equivalent of picking up signals through your fillings."

And if it's obvious he doesn't believe that...well, it's not his fault that it's an inadequate explanation.

"On the other hand," and he's got them on the road again, "you saw the radio clock go crazy. Temporal distortion is widely reported among abductees."

Agent Scully, shockingly, does not like either of these explanations; she frowns, deep in thought as she climbs back into the car. She doesn't want to point out that nothing happened, because obviously something happened; but nothing that seems indicative of alien abduction. They're still firmly on Earth.

"I understand that you try to stay open to.... extreme possibilities." And she's trying not to hold that against him, though she's polite enough not to say so. "But it seems like there are still a number of more mundane possibilities you're skipping over, here."

"Okay," he says, taking them around a curve. If she has ideas to contribute, he wants to hear them - however mundane, however incomplete. "Lay out some alternatives for the class."

"Assuming Dr. Nemman isn't responsible? Whoever is has enough power to pay him off." She looks out the window, considering it. There are plenty of far-out possibilities, even, without going off the planet. "And maybe friends who can exert pressure on the Bureau to have the previous investigation closed. I wouldn't call it likely, but it seems more plausible than Martians."

He'd been hoping she wanted to keep discussing the radio, not the case - the mundane solutions to the latter are a lot more visible than the former. But he'll take any conversation, at the moment. It's strangely gratifying, to get to try his theories out on someone, even when the result is doubt.

"How do we incorporate the deaths outside the state?" he asks, curious to see her explanation. "I'm not convinced Nemman's trips out of town line up."

"It's hard to say," she agrees. "But he doesn't have to be personally responsible to be involved. It could be related, or coincidental-- if we knew more about the substance I might be able to venture a better guess."

Organ-stealing rings, maybe? That sounds like an urban legend, but still more likely than aliens.

"Could be as simple as a novel street drug overdose, though I admit it's unlikely."

"That depends on how many street drugs you can get out here." There's probably nothing better to do in a one-horse town - plenty of kids smoked grass back on the Vineyard - but anything exotic seems more likely to pop up in cities first. They're looking at rural deaths in fairly rural states. "Of course, in that case, we'd probably have to hand it over to the DEA."

"We would. But it would still be an explanation." And isn't that what matters? Figuring it out. Finding justice. He shouldn't be disappointed, right?

"I don't know how that would tie in to the radio interference, though." She offers a tight smile, not that he's looking. "I suppose that's why we're here."

"I suppose it is." They're pulling into the local cemetery, which makes arguing the issue further a moot point - for now. Mulder has no doubt that'll change as they gather more evidence. Right here, right now, he's hoping to find something significant.

They park near the grave in question, and he turns in his seat to look at her. No apparent squeamishness yet. "We're on."

The truth is she's a bit doubtful that they'll find anything-- not because she disbelieves the connection, but considering the process of decomposition even embalmed bodies undergo, and the potential volatility of an unknown organic compound... If Agent Mulder has thought this through, she doesn't have to tell him, and if he hasn't, he'll have the not-so-pleasant surprise once they get the victim to the morgue.

"Which body is it?"

She opens her folder again for a quick refresher.

"Ray Soames." He's already getting out of the car. "C'mon, I'll introduce you."

Terrible jokes for what's kind of an exciting afternoon. There's something to be said for exhuming a body - all the potential discoveries that await them. And, it turns out, all the fury of the local ME getting territorial. They have it out while his daughter tries to get him to leave, and eventually the daughter wins.

Then it's just Mulder and Scully and a cemetery full of uncracked coffins. Mulder leads them up the hill toward the gravesite. "What'd you think of the cause of death on Soames?"

It's far more eventful than she was expecting, and they haven't even really started.

"I'll admit, it seemed suspicious when I was reviewing the file," she admits. "After that..."

Whatever else may or may not be true-- she doesn't trust Nemman as far as she could throw him. She's more curious than ever about what they'll find-- whether there's enough evidence to figure out what he's hiding.

"Given the time, I'm not sure how much we'll be able to tell," she admits. "But this is the best we can do..."

"We'll find something," he says, and if confidence sounds a little like faith, that's your lying ears hearing what isn't there.

He watches with a mix of approval and fascination as the crane pulls the casket from the earth. Easy, easy - and then there's a startling crash as the harness snaps. The casket goes skidding down the hill, and Mulder's running down after it, trusting that Scully's going to follow.

Dana had imagined-- as most people with Bureau desk jobs do, no doubt-- that field work must be somewhat more exciting. But this is the kind of thing that only happens in movies, isn't it? An exhumation now and then, sure-- not business as usual, but it's routine enough. An exhumation of a possible serial killer coverup victim going flying down the hill is... it would be comical, if this weren't deadly serious.

She does freeze for a moment as the casket rolls, but takes off after Mulder. Not as fast-- he has longer legs and no high heels-- but she's no slouch. And besides, eventually the casket comes to rest with a sickening crack as it hits a tombstone.

They try to stop him from opening the casket, but there's no way in hell he's going to do that. Mulder cracks it and catches sight of a spindly body within. Not in the shape you'd expect from an embalmed corpse - and even if it were, it wouldn't be human, anyway. That's not a twenty-year-old boy, no matter how you slice it.

He looks up, catching Scully's eyes, and for a moment, he's almost gleeful. Look what we found - and it really is a 'we.' He'd half-expected her to stay uphill, looking down disdainfully. Instead, she kept up with him.

And then he's all business, barking orders. "Seal this up! I want this casket moved immediately. No one looks at it, no one touches it."

Possibly if she were less shocked, she might try to talk him out of it-- this is the sort of thing that should happen in sterile surroundings, and without the possibility of onlookers. But she's too curious, and he's too determined, and--

There's no way that thing is human.

Her returning glance is a little closer to panic because what the hell is that.

"I think we've found something," she murmurs grimly. She's not sure what, though.

"I think this is what Howard Carter felt like," he mutters back, eyes shining. Mulder takes her elbow, leading her back a few steps, and they watch as the casket is closed. Once it's on a truck, about to head to the coroner's office, he adds, "Let's follow that coffin, Scully."

Back to the rental it is.

Under the circumstances, she almost wants to go in the truck-- the glimpse they had at the corpse was strange enough that she's reluctant to let it out of her sight, like it's going to vanish. Or it's some kind of prank.

It's a while before she speaks.

"That can't have been a human body, Mulder."

"Nope." He feels like an ambulance chaser, tailgating the truck on its way back to the morgue - except ambulance chasers are usually speeding, and he's stuck a couple miles below the speed limit. All the energy vibrating through him has to go somewhere, and it ends up in his face and mouth, eyes alight as he glances over at Scully. "Even you see it."

[ 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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