Staying with Mulder is... strange. It's a little like the old days, and nothing like that at all. Like being on the run again, but not at all. It's easy to keep things light and positive. Maybe it's like a honeymoon-- not that they had one-- not that they're married, really. It's nice. And it feels-- she thinks-- she hopes-- like the start of something, not an interlude.

But time marches on, and so do cleaning crews, and repairmen, and glaziers. It feels like no time at all before she gets the call that she can go--

Go home? Go back?

He drove them out here, so it means he's got to drive her back, and that doesn't feel nearly as easy or light. She overthinks it, because that's what she does best. Her bag of books and Superbowl tape, still unpacked, she leaves in the his (their?) living room. Half her clothes have ended up in the drawers, and she doesn't bother retrieving them; but she takes the duffel bag and whatever's left in it, takes the little fire safe. Not staying, but not leaving. Ready to come back. Taking him with her.

She bundles it all into his car and flashes him a smile she hopes is reassuring.