You can't say she didn't make the effort, back then; she recalls lace blouses, complicated hairdos, makeup tips that looked so elegant in magazines and made her look seventeen and lost when she tried them.

Even if it's a little impersonal, this is still her home; she can't help standing a moment to regard it, annoyed and sad about the state of it, as she steps out of the car. What happened isn't Mulder's fault, really, but this will cost more than ten percent on a blob fish.

"That would be great, if you would. Uh-- help yourself to anything in the kitchen, if you want, though I wouldn't trust the water dispenser right now."

She's offering him free reign of the house, really. Hard to have any secrets when there's so little of yourself imprinted on a place.

"I'll double- check the fireplace and then-- I shouldn't be long."

It sounds reasonable, she thinks, and calm; no trace of the panicky internal debate on what to bring, how long to stay, when she'll come back. Whether she wants to go. Whether she'll want to leave. Mulder would be a gentleman and take the couch himself if she asked him to. If he offers, makes a joke about staying up with porn or Plan Nine, it won't be a shock.

But she thinks, maybe, that's not what she wants.

She kicks aside some larger shards of glass as they go inside, a useless gesture considering the breath of the damage.