SEASON 1

SEASON 2

SEASON 3

SEASON 4

SEASON 5

FIGHT THE FUTURE

SEASON 6

SEASON 7

SEASON 8

SEASON 9

Recap written by Lurkey

We open by panning down slowly through some dark woods; they're made marginally spooky by the creepy music playing, and marginally less spooky by the Foley artists pushing seemingly every key on the big synthesizer of Vaguely Haunting Wildlife Sounds: loons, crickets, a high whine that might be a coyote. A blonde girl and a small boy are tucked into sleeping bags beside a merrily crackling campfire that they should seriously have tamped down before conking out for the night. Smokey the Bear would be gravely disappointed. Inside a shabby camper nearby, another woman, who I know is their mom so I'll just say so, sleeps. The camera pans slowly past an open bag of marshmallows on the camper's little table, which: hee. Dude, I want s'mores so bad right now. Water drips ominously in the sink. Suddenly, a completely brim-full (??) cup of coffee on the table begins to shudder, and then all hell breaks loose in the camper, e verything rocking and shaking and dumping Mom right out of her bunk onto the floor. Dishes fly out of the cabinets, and a blinding white light pours through every window as Mom gets hurled hither and yon in the bouncing camper and yells her head off. It's over as suddenly as it began…everything goes dark, and then the little boy begins shrieking outside, "MOOOOOM!" "Kevin," Mom gasps, and scrambles for the door, recoiling with a shout when the handle is apparently too hot to touch. Kevin is going completely bonkers outside, and half-sobbing in pain, Mom slips on an oven mitt over her roasted hand—again, hee—and manages to free herself from the camper. "Mom!" cries the little boy when she emerges. "Ruby's gone!" They stumble around the campsite, Mom hollering for the missing Ruby and finally crying out to the heavens above. "Ruuuubaaaaayy!"

Credits. Oh, you guys, they are so cheesy and adorable. Doo doo doo! Guns and flashlights and FBI babies! Doo dooooo! The truth is out there. Yes, I'm sure of it.

Stock shot of the J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building, conveniently labeled in big brass letters, AND timestamped "FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C." for the slower viewers. Hey, it's Blevins! Blevins hands wee fluffy-haired Scully Mulder's latest request for assignment and travel expenses for the two of them—a "302," which I am wondering whether that's a real thing or just a made-up official-ish number. He wants to go to Sioux City, Iowa. Scully looks skeptical while Blevins exposits a lot more crap that's got to be made up, I think, on the convoluted channels that Mulder's request came through. Attached to the file is a tabloid clipping, "Teen Taken from Tent by Aliens," which we know is bogus because, hello: no tent. Scully and Blevins are skeptical together over kray-zee Mulder, trying to make an official case out of this hooey. "I admit, that is strange…even for Mulder," Scully comments—oh, honey. You ARE new. Blevin s shuffles over to his file cabinet for some more goodies; incidentally, his office is really institutionally beige and bland, with only a couple of decorative brass…doohickeys, and a humongous American flag in a stand, to give it any personality. Don't his digs get a lot swankier, about the time he's all backstabby and compromised in Season 4/5? Maybe that's how you get the nice corner offices: conspiring. Skinner is not even a gleam in anyone's eye, yet, is he? Anyway. Blevins presents Scully with a Very Special X-File, namely that assigned to one Samantha T. Mulder. That T stands for "Totally Can't Remember Her Middle Name From Season To Season." The file looks a bit yellowed with age and has obviously been typed into a form, old-school style; it also features a picture of a grinning toddler-aged Samantha in a bathing suit. Aw. "Has he shared any of this with you?" Blevins asks. You don't know the half of it, buddy. Scully hesitates before expositing the basics of Samantha's abd uction, 21 years ago: the bright light, the presence in the room. "In your opinion, has Agent Mulder's personal agenda clouded his professional judgment?" Blevins asks her, not leading at all with this delivery, no sir. Scully says no, though Blevins largely rambles right past her, reminding her of Mulder's outcast status and denying the 302.

"With respect, sir, at least let me talk with him, and make a recommendation," Scully offers. Gillian Anderson is speaking really strangely, in this scene, somehow: very clipped and arch and formal, articulating carefully, with semi-British vowels and I don't know what all going on up in there. I understand that she has something of a chameleonic accent; apparently cosmopolitan Vancouver is wreaking some real havoc here, in the early going. Whatever: we leap without preamble to the Lush Basement Office for that talk. Smell ya later, Blevins, you dirty bastard!