"Fried rice and egg drop soup for the mother," he says, because he can't stop himself. Ignore the baby while drawing attention to it. Good job, Fox. "I'll call it in. Uh - make yourself at home."

He'll beat it to the kitchen fridge, to take a look at his takeout menus. Except they aren't haphazardly stuck to the freezer door anymore - they're piled up in his now-suspiciously-neat junk drawer. Which must have been Scully, and it's nice of her, he supposes, but it's baffling. Considering her circumstances, she must have had plenty of other items on her to-do list.

"I'd suggest we rent a movie," he tells her, coming over to the couch once the food's on its way, "but I don't know what's new on video anymore."