He's awake well after her breathing grows slow and even, but he doesn't mind. There's plenty to think about: the sense memories of Scully curled into his side, the eerie quiet of a house he doesn't belong in, the road ahead of them both. Ways they could get her home, what they'll have to do if they can't manage it. What they'll have to tell her mother, if this turns into the kind of long-term stay Scully's health can't afford.

Somewhere in the middle of trying to brainstorm ways to source a microchip for her neck, he does end up falling asleep, though, and though he wakes up once or twice, he can get back easily. He always has slept better in her presence; if she sticks around, there's a decent chance he'll be back to keeping (mostly) normal-people hours.

Until he gets over the novelty of her presence, anyway, and loses himself in conspiracy all over again. But that's a bridge he can't cross from here.

He wakes early the next morning, loath to disturb her and yet needing to get up. Carefully, he slides out from under her and pads off to the bathroom - where, on a whim, he decides that he may as well take a shower while he's in the neighborhood. Present-day Scully may be entitled to compensation, when all is said and done.