At the island in the kitchen, a pale white kid wearing a bald cap and a red Star Trek: The Next Generation uniform stood by the blender, overseeing the contents being poured in. When the top went on the device, he pointed and said, “Engage.” He tugged at the bottom of his tunic, turned, and nearly shouted, “You have the bridge, Number One.”

It wasn’t clear whom he was talking to.

One of the Darth Vaders called for a girl dressed as Marge Simpson to grab him a beer.

“I thought you were driving?” she said.

He grew still and made his voice deeper. “I am altering the deal. Pray I don’t alter it any further.”

Several drinking games were going on. Loud music played (Green Day at the moment). Lines for both the home’s bathrooms spilled down one hall.

Desmond was rather relieved to see no other Agent Fox Mulders, though there was one Scully. Her outfit was pretty good: a black pantsuit and a white button-up shirt with the collar laid over the lapels of the jacket. She’d printed her ID on a computer; it even had her own picture on it next to the large blue FBI letters. The red wig was the right color. She was about five foot six, slender, with dark brown eyebrows and fair skin. Her eyes were a little large for her face; Desmond found that attractive.

She was standing with a group of five people, holding a red Solo cup she wasn’t paying much attention to, when one of the Luke Skywalkers approached her. A Darth Vader was his wingman.

The guy’s voice was nasal, rehearsed.

“Excuse me, am I to understand that you’re a female body inspector?”

Scully smiled but didn’t laugh.

“Nice try. Come back when you’ve got better material, Padawan.”

Skywalker glanced at Vader. “The Force is strong with this one.”

That did make Desmond laugh. Poor guy.

The two faded back into the crowd, leaving Scully staring directly at Desmond.

He had spent countless hours in bars, witnessed maybe ten thousand guys hit on girls. In that time, he had learned two things. One, if you see a girl you’re interested in, don’t hesitate. The moment you make eye contact, just go over there. Waiting hurts the cause. And two, pickup lines are useless. A woman is either interested or not; they pretty much know instantly. They don’t pick a guy based on the pickup line. Confidence is the universal attractor, and nothing says confidence like not having a pickup line.

He never broke eye contact as he walked over.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I’m Fox Mulder.”

She extended her hand. It felt absolutely tiny in his.

“Dana Scully.” Her face was stoic; Desmond thought it was a pretty good imitation of the character. She was definitely game for the role-playing.

“I know why you’re here.”

“Do you?”