He drinks his coffee and wanders around, and eventually, out of sheer need to be doing something, he jumps in the shower. Probably for the best - he comes out smelling a little less like he's been sleeping in his clothes, especially when he wanders into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, and discovers clean clothes in his drawers.

It should be embarrassing, to realize Scully's cleaning up the house for him, and to some extent, it is. He's a grown-ass man, more than capable of doing a load of laundry - but on the other hand, he hasn't in weeks, so maybe that's not actually true. The main thing he feels, particularly when he gets a whiff of the laundry soap on the t-shirt he puts on, is relief. He might be able to get things back the way they're supposed to be. Eventually, he might manage it.

When he comes back downstairs, Scully's all made up and ready to go, and something about it softens his gaze. She's beautiful; she'll always be beautiful. At moments like this, he remembers just how true it is, and how badly he screwed everything up.

"Ready to do a little light B&E?" he asks, going for his shoes a second time. "I'll get the crowbar out of the shed, if you want."