Having seen the prices on menus and the cost of a couple of nights in a hotel room, she can't help a little grimace. But it's hardly worth arguing about; she's not looking for anything fancy anyway. It would be a waste, when with any luck she'll be back when she belongs sooner rather than later.

Driving through the countryside, it could have been any year at all; here, surrounded by modern cars and people with their phones and somehow more garish advertising than ever, she feels decidedly out of place. (Score one more point for Mulder's house, which felt relatively timeless in spite of his computer-television.)

"I don't think I need too much," she frets aimlessly as they head toward the department store. Everything is a big unknown, but she can't plan to stay indefinitely-- not when her health depends on getting back to her own timeline. "I guess there's not much we can do until you hear back from your sources, though?"

That's the frustrating thing about being the subject of this case: where do you even start to investigate it?