Mulder turns out the light, and a mild pang of guilt hits him. She's out here on her couch, despite the fact that there's a perfectly good bed one room over - but she's not so deep a sleeper that he can pick her up and carry her back to it. Not tonight, at least.

Which is to say, he doesn't sleep. He walks into her bedroom, looks at it like he's studying a crime scene, and tries not to think about the way the bedclothes smell like her when he sits down on one side of the mattress. It's not going to work. There's something stirring in him, so deep that he can't tell if it's a product of his mind or the transformation or both.

He moves as quietly as he can, back into the kitchen, and then to Scully, and then the door. When she wakes, there's a beach rose at her fingertips and an empty bedroom a few paces away, the front door shut but unlocked.