Half of her isn't sure why she needs to know. She shouldn't be prying in the future-- his past-- but it's impossible not to be curious, to build theories. Several years means he didn't buy it as a fixer-upper last week, but also-- probably-- that he's been maintaining it well enough, which given how remote it is and how fanatic he seems to be about privacy, means it's likely all his hands. From that perspective, it doesn't look so bad at all, at least not from the outside.

She grabs their bags of food to give herself something to do. It smells good-- she might actually manage to eat something-- maybe the remoteness of Mulder's future isn't such a bad thing. Less distraction might help her take better care of herself.

It can wait a day or two, maybe-- figuring out what to do about her sickness, here and now. Not ideal, but in the face of a broken timeline, it seems like a smaller concern somehow. And in the most immediate sense she's just glad to get out of this enormous car without twisting her ankle.

She stands by the side of it, feeling out of place, waiting for him to go first and open up the door. At home, Mulder's apartment feels somehow like an extension of their office; a place she has business being. It's odd to feel like an uninvited guest.