"Smell That" . . . The sun was shining brightly and the sky was blue. Mulder squinted up, rolling the well-worn baseball in his hand, while Scully jotted down notes.

     "Compression marks," she began, then faltered slightly at Mulder's complete lack of attention, but she carried on anyway, "indicate the shovel blades to be exactly six and three-quarters inches."

     Mulder threw an imaginary pitch.

     "The angle of movement and deep indentation suggest a," again she faltered momentarily as he kept playing pitcher, "left-handed individual."

     Mulder threw the ball up in the air. Scully gazed at him, but continued. "I've collected soil specimens, and 'though numerous shoe impressions remain from the sandlot game, I think," she stumbled over her words, his distraction causing her own distraction, "a -- a couple of dental stone casts will prove invaluable to the investigation."

     Still, he showed no interest and continued his imaginary game. After a slight pause, and an intense gaze of mystification, she went on. "Meanwhile, I've quit the bureau and become a spokesperson for the Ab-Roller."

     Ignoring her last comment, he stuck the baseball under her nose, commanding, "smell that."

     She sniffed lightly, a mild distaste on her face, one, he obviously did not share. "It's perfume," he mused and then took his own sniff. "eau de ball."

     He threw another imaginary pitch. "God, this brings back memories of my sister -- all day pick-up games out on the Vineyard, ride your bikes down to the beach, eat baloney sandwiches. Only place you had to be on time was home for dinner."

     Scully smiled involuntarily, enjoying Mulder's stroll down memory lane.

     "You never had to lock your doors," he continued. "No modems, no faxes, no cellphones --"

     At that, Scully interjected wryly, the hint of a smile in her voice, "Mulder, if you had to do without a cellphone for two minutes, you'd lapse into a catatonic schizophrenia." She glanced up as a truck pulled up on the sandlot, while Mulder responded.

     "Scully, you don't know me as well as you think you do. You know, my work demands that I live in a big city, but if I had to settle down," he glanced over at her and her features evidenced a hint of skepticism, "build a home, it'd be in a place like this."

     "It'd be like living in Mayberry," she commented.

     The driver of the truck, an older, black man in a sherrif's uniform, stepped forward, "Agents Mulder and Scully?" he asked. At Mulder's nod, he slipped under the yellow "DO NOT CROSS" ticket and extended a hand.

     "Hi," he offered warmly, "I'm Sheriff Andy Taylor."

     A smile lit Mulder's face, "for real?" and he and Scully glanced at each other.

     "The Conversation on the Bench" . . . Mulder and Scully walked out of the Sheriff's department and into the bright sunlight. Scully glanced over at Mulder, distress in her voice, "Imagine all the woman's hopes and dreams for her child and then nature turns so cruel. What must a mother go through?"

     "Apparently not much in this case if she'd just throw it out with the trash." They were silent, both thinking as they sat down upon an empty bench, Mulder stretching his arms out and leaning back; Scully hunched over slightly.

     "I guess I was just projecting on myself," she commented reflectively. Glancing curiously at her, Mulder spoke, "why, is there a history of genetic abnormalities in your family?"

     She turned to look at him, answering in the negative, he nodded and continued, "well just find yourself a man with a spotless genetic makeup and a really high tolerance for being second-guessed and start pumping out the little UberScullys."

     He rubbed her back and they both smiled, neither one acknowledging that Mulder's description fit him to a tee.

     "What about your family?" Scully asked and a soft smile lit Mulder's face. He didn't answer at first and she prompted him with her expression. "Hmm? Well aside from the need for corrective lenses and a tendency to be abducted by extraterrestrials involved in an international governmental conspiracy," he held out a fist and gave a hearty thumbs up, "the Mulder family passes genetic muster."

     She laughed lightly, but thoughts of the deformed infant remained on her mind, recognizing this, he spoke softly, "Scully, that child inside is a tragedy. Some young parents, probably scared kids, disposed of an unwanted birth. And in a very certain sense, infanticide is involved, but this is not an FBI matter."

     "But from what I know about genetic defects Mulder, it's unlikely that child is the result of a single polygenic mating."

     "We should let local authorities investigate that," he countered. But still, she was insistent, "those defects, Mulder, are autosomal dominant disorders. And from the degree I'd say mutations that go back many generations."

     Mulder leaned forward, still debating their involvement in this case, "Scully, Sheriff Taylor implied that the boys in that family were not really the type that could easily get dates."

     "But," she jumped in with, "he also implied that they practiced inbreeding. Now we all have a natural instinct to propagate."

     A flirtatious look lit upon Mulder's face and a hint of innuendo sparked his response. "Do we?" As always ignoring his sexual repartee, Scully continued gamely, "there are theories which pose that our bodies are simple vehicles for genes needing to replicate."

     "Yeah, but there's no sister. Mother's been dead for ten years --"

     "But if the instinct and the need is strong enough," she interjected, "they will answer it any way that they can. Now a woman gave birth to that child Mulder, and my guess is against her will."

     At last seeing her point, he nodded, "kidnapping is a Bureau matter."

     Holding his gaze a moment longer, she stood up and began walking away. Mulder called her name and she paused, looking back. "I never saw you as a mother before." A softness lit her face as she reflected on his words and his own gaze was soft and warm as he looked after her.

     "Mulder's Antenna Dance of Seduction" . . . Mulder stood before the cloudy television set, playing gamely with the antenna, attempting (unsuccessfully) to get some half-way decent reception. Scully looked over at him, a smile on her face as he held out his arm, trying to act as a conduit. She glanced away, holding back a laugh, and gazed back down at her notebook. Shutting it, she rose from the table.

     She walked over to him and was stopped short by his sudden command of "hoah! Don't move. Don't move!" and he steadied her with a hand on her bent arm. She humored him and stood still. However, not getting any better reception, he let her go and swore softly. She leaned back slightly, arms akimbo, as he continued playing with the antenna.

     "Still planning on making a home here? she asked dryly. He stopped his antenna dance and looked at her in all seriousness, replying, "not if I can't get the Knicks game," and sent one of the antennae in her direction.

     "Well, just as long as a grueling infanticide doesn't weigh into your decision," she responded airily and moved away, heading for the door. "G'night, Mulder."

     Looking over his shoulder, he gave a sardonic, "night, mom," and she glanced back over at him, but made no comment.