Mental Institution. More Mental Meditation. The guard walks into Kobalt's massive cell and asks if he's done with his meal. There's no response, so the guard takes the tray and leaves, admitting Doggett. He brought "the professor" something to read, he says. "It's a monograph you wrote six years ago. Know the one I'm talking about, Professor? It's about the influence of Satan in Renaissance thinking." Kobalt gets up. "So, you found your proof," he says. "Circumstantial though it may be." Doggett asks him why he planned this whole thing? Why? Why? Kobalt says he's been thinking a lot about Doggett. Doggett grits at him to answer the damn question. "Clearly, you have feelings for her," Kobalt says, walking around the room like a lecturer. "You ordered these killings," Doggett says. "But you can't compete with the long-lost Agent Mulder," Kobalt continues. Except for the part where he's not gone. He's at the store. "His easy good looks, his Oxford education," Kobalt enumerates. If the writers want us to forget about Mulder, they really should stop mentioning how smart and dreamy he is. "This is about you, Professor," Doggett grits. "Mulder has what you can't have. What you stumble for." Because everyone wants a TelekineticAlienBaby and a life on the run. "The flat-footed cop, thinking he could put handcuffs on a demon," Kobalt drones on. Doggett is finally pissed. "Answer the question!" he yells. "You want her, but she feels sorry for you. They both do," Kobalt says. Doggett grabs for him. And Kobalt starts to vomit. It looks like tomato soup. And it's more vomit than I've ever seen. He vomits, seriously, for like thirty-five minutes straight. Kobalt vomits on himself. He vomits on Doggett. He vomits on the floor. He slips and rolls around in his own vomit. Finally, a vomit-y Doggett calls for a medic. You know, I heard this episode was really gross. But that? Nothing. Nada. Delicious. I enjoyed it. The new credits are more disgusting than that was.