She couldn't have anticipated any of this; the distance, both physical and metaphorical, from his life's work. Mulder seems like a city creature to her-- what it means that he's changed so much, she can't guess.

It's not unpleasant, the ride. Maybe it's unfair of her to imagine he'd be unhappy in the country; he's more worldly than their basement.

And then the house... it's a house. Not grand or imposing, but it strikes her as a lot of house for a man who sleeps on his couch when he's not living out of motels. Certainly something has changed. It's a little rough around the edges, but not run down. It looks comfortable, which-- in spite of everything-- does fit.

"It's nice," she says, because that's what you say, but she means it. It's rural. It's big. She realizes far too late that she'd normally worry about him trying to give her a bed and take the couch, but with Mulder that might mean taking the couch and leaving him the floor.

"Can I ask-- have you been here long?"