It's not a helpful answer, but it's unhelpful in the way he'd expect from Scully. Even when it looked like she was dying, she'd spent an unreasonable amount of time making sure she wasn't interrupting anyone else's life in the process. It had been admirable, at the time; it had meant everything that the work would go on, and Scully along with it, that he wouldn't have to imagine life without her as she wasted away in a hospital bed. And even when it came to that point - she'd still wanted to believe. He did everything in his power to keep her alive, but it wouldn't have worked if she hadn't been willing to try what must have seemed insane. Of course she'd say she's all right.

Under the table, his foot brushes against hers, then retreats as soon as he realizes.

"Time travel," he says immediately, as though the solution is obvious. There are a few other possibilities, but they might as well start with the most likely possibility. "It's only been a day, hasn't it? Does Skinner know whether our time's Scully disappeared at the same time?"