Sometimes she feels like this is how she's spent most of her life, lingering over coffee in a thousand interchangeable diners with Mulder. It's made her restless, now and then, to think that; now, it's a source of peace. The daylight and the analog comforts are reassuring after the evening's misadventures, but more than anything it's his proximity that puts her at ease. They sit, and time ticks by, and her mind wanders pleasantly until he speaks up.

The firing of mirror neurons and her matching yawn delay her answer a moment.

"I could use a week in a remote spa with nothing more high-tech than a radio," she says wistfully, a smile curling around the words. There is, she knows, a lot to be done. While not technically a crime scene, her condo is going to need a similar amount of attention: glass replacements, the fireplace needs to be checked, the refrigerator lobotomized. Probably she should call a lawyer; you can't charge an AI with attempted murder but there's got to be someone she can sue for whatever insurance won't cover. The cherry on the cake, she needs to pick up a new vibrator, stat.

So much to do.

"A nap would be a nice start," she reasons instead.