SCULLY: I forgot what it was like to spend a day in court.
MULDER: Well, that's one of the luxuries of hunting down aliens and
genetic mutants. You rarely get to press charges.
SCULLY: It's open.
MULDER: What?
SCULLY: It's unlocked.
MULDER: That's weird. I'm sure I locked it.
SCULLY: Must be an X-File.
PHOEBE GREEN: (recording) Greetings, Agent Mulder. Six months ago, British Minister of
Parliament Reggie Ellicott received an audio cassette much like the one
you are listening to now.
Unfortunately for Mr. Ellicott, when he popped the tape into the car
stereo, he armed a device, which, when he tried to exit the car,
created an explosion that was heard five miles away. The Scotland
Yard Forensic Team could only identify the poor bastard by his
dental records. If only he hadn't reached for the door handle and
triggered the detonator. But then how was he to know he was
sitting on enough plastique explosive to lift the car forty feet in
the air and deposit the engine block on top of a three-story building?
GREEN: Aren't you going to thank me?
MULDER: For what?
GREEN: Saving your life. One tends not to make the same mistake twice.
MULDER: I'll try to remember that.
GREEN: Oh, come on, don't tell me you left your sense of humor in
Oxford ten years ago.
MULDER: No, actually. It's one of the few things you didn't drive a
stake through.
GREEN: You know, some mistakes are quite worth making twice.
MULDER: Dana Scully, this is Phoebe Green, terror of Scotland Yard.
GREEN: Hello.
SCULLY: Hello.
GREEN: (whispering to MULDER) She hates me.
SCULLY: Three-pipe problem?
MULDER: That's, uh, from Sherlock Holmes. It's a private joke.
SCULLY: How private?
MULDER: Um... we knew each other in school in England. She was
brilliant and, uh, I got in over my head and, uh, paid the price.
SCULLY: Mulder, you just keep unfolding like a flower.
MULDER: That was over ten years ago, Scully.
SCULLY: Yeah, I noticed how you couldn't drop everything fast enough
in order to help her out.
MULDER: Oh, I was merely extending her a professional courtesy.
SCULLY: Oh, is that what you were extending?
AGENT BEATTY: Beautiful. Oh, just beautiful. Look at that. Salmon red flames.
This is fourteen-hundred, fifteen-hundred degrees. This is a work of art. Was there any kind of incendiary device used?
GREEN: Yes, actually. The victim's body.
BEATTY: Spontaneous combustion?
GREEN: He was murdered. However, we've turned up no evidence that
tells us how the body caught fire.
BEATTY: Well, that's peculiar. People don't normally just catch on fire.
BEATTY: You've got quite a case for yourself here, Mulder. I almost
wish I could be in your shoes.
SCULLY: So, Sherlock, is the game afoot?
MULDER: I'm afraid so, Watson. But you're off the hook on this one.
SCULLY: What do you mean?
MULDER: I mean I'm not going to put you through this.
SCULLY: Put me through what?
MULDER: Phoebe's little mindgame.
SCULLY: What are you talking about?
MULDER: There's something else I haven't told you about myself, Scully... I hate fire. Hate it. Scared to death of it. When I was a kid, my best friend's house burned down. Had to spend
the night in the rubble to keep away looters. For years, I had nightmares
about being trapped in a burning building.
SCULLY: Wait, and Phoebe knows about this?
MULDER: This is classic Phoebe Green. Mindgame player extraordinaire.
Ten years it's taken me to forget about this woman, and she shows up
in my life with a case like this.
SCULLY: So she shows up knowing the power she has over you and
then she makes you walk through fire, is that it?
MULDER: Phoebe is fire.
SCULLY: Mulder? Are you sure you don't want me to help you out on
this one?
MULDER: Sooner or later, a man's got to face his demons.
GREEN: Deftly done, Agent Mulder. Casually disregard her indiscretion.
A firm but polite manner until she accedes to cooperate.
MULDER: It's a technique I refined in my relationship with you.
GREEN: Oh. Yes, well, I see you haven't lost your sense of humor after all.
MULDER: I'm cursed with a photographic memory.
SCULLY: (voice over) His crimes are often very clever and elaborately planned.
The suspicious nature of the fire last night strongly suggests the
arsonist has followed Lord Marsden to the United States. A check
of all recent immigrations in the northeastern area is underway.
It has become not a matter of if, but when he will strike.
SCULLY: (mimicking PHOEBE) Care to take me for lunch?
MULDER: Huh?
SCULLY: Scare you?
MULDER: You have no idea!
SCULLY: Where's Phoebe?
MULDER: I don't know.
SCULLY: You don't know?
MULDER: Ten to one you can't dance to it.
