"No," he agrees. Leaving a lot of food to rot on a whim seems decidedly un-Scully, too, which means they've got more of a time frame to work with. "But you've been gone a week at minimum, probably two weeks at maximum. We'll know for sure when we call the hospital."

Since they're here, he takes the liberty of pulling out a trash bag and tossing expired food into it after Scully examines it. Throwing away the chicken before it develops its own microscopic civilization is the least he can do for her; somehow, it's a hell of a lot easier to take care of her house than his own. The salad dressing can stay, along with everything in the freezer, but just about everything else has to go.

"The bedroom's on the other end of the house," he says, trying to sound casual about it as he ties up the garbage bag. They'll probably have to find a dumpster for it; no one's here to take her trash out for her. He'll leave it by the front door for now, so they don't forget it on the way out. "We might find something there."