"I can only drink so much herbal tea." Being bundled off to bed, a wayward child in her home, a third time was in the cards, and he couldn't stand it. Leaving her proof of his existence and finding an outlet for the overwhelming desire to do something had seemed fairer for them both.

Apparently, it wasn't.

When he stands, he's thinner somehow, the branches behind him more full. They're growing the tender green leaves of early springtime. One long leg steps over the ring of roses he's created, and then the other, and he's standing before Scully. "But coffee sounds okay."