"Quonochontaug," he says, without hesitation. Rhode Island, 1997. He'd been doing anything and everything to figure out just what his brain might have hidden from him, what repressed memories might hold the key to Samantha's disappearance. The scratchy technicolor memory of her face, Fox whispered in his ear, comes to him then - but so does Scully's arms around him, the two of them huddled in his family's summer home.
He's quiet a moment too long, looking through her, before he realizes it. Coming back to himself, he gives her a sad little smile. "That was a long time ago. You'd -"
"Can I get you started with some drinks?" There's a waiter, irritatingly cheerful in the way of happy-hour waiters everywhere, aware that their tips live and die on the mood.
Mulder looks over, startled and mildly annoyed. "Water. And we're going to need a while to decide. Come back in fifteen."
He looks like a college kid, impossibly young in a way everyone's become in the last few years. It'll be less than ten years before William's the same age. "Fifteen? Sir, we're a busy restaurant -"
"It'll be worth your while. Please." Maybe there's something in how he says it, the hangdog look of his face, or maybe the kid is willing to roll the dice on just what worth your while might mean. He heads off to get them their water, and when he sets it down on the table for them, he leaves without trying to convince them of the appetizer specials.
And once again, Mulder's entire world is Scully. He's drawn toward her like a moth to a bug zapper, the way he always has been; she's closer than she's been in...a year? Months, at the very least. And after so long without seeing her, it's impossible to escape just how beautiful she is. Which - damn. She's not in remission, and he's not going to be able to rustle up alien-made hardware to implant in her neck. If they don't get her back to her own time quickly, the replay of her last days with the cancer might go tragically wrong. "How are you feeling?"
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He's quiet a moment too long, looking through her, before he realizes it. Coming back to himself, he gives her a sad little smile. "That was a long time ago. You'd -"
"Can I get you started with some drinks?" There's a waiter, irritatingly cheerful in the way of happy-hour waiters everywhere, aware that their tips live and die on the mood.
Mulder looks over, startled and mildly annoyed. "Water. And we're going to need a while to decide. Come back in fifteen."
He looks like a college kid, impossibly young in a way everyone's become in the last few years. It'll be less than ten years before William's the same age. "Fifteen? Sir, we're a busy restaurant -"
"It'll be worth your while. Please." Maybe there's something in how he says it, the hangdog look of his face, or maybe the kid is willing to roll the dice on just what worth your while might mean. He heads off to get them their water, and when he sets it down on the table for them, he leaves without trying to convince them of the appetizer specials.
And once again, Mulder's entire world is Scully. He's drawn toward her like a moth to a bug zapper, the way he always has been; she's closer than she's been in...a year? Months, at the very least. And after so long without seeing her, it's impossible to escape just how beautiful she is. Which - damn. She's not in remission, and he's not going to be able to rustle up alien-made hardware to implant in her neck. If they don't get her back to her own time quickly, the replay of her last days with the cancer might go tragically wrong. "How are you feeling?"