Part of her has been expecting that-- based on his not having her address, on the way Skinner carefully avoided talking about anything-- but having it out plain makes her visibly startle. A year feels like an impossible time to be apart from Mulder, especially right now-- when she knows how worried he is about her, like if he turns away too long she might vanish.

And... it makes some sense, somehow. The lingering sadness around him, the way he keeps looking at her and not looking at her. What happened, she wants to ask; she's not sure she's more afraid of him answering or not answering. So she doesn't ask. Bites her tongue to keep for apologizing, when she doesn't know what it's for, whether she's even the one who needs to.

"Maybe there are others," she says finally. It feels like a cop-out, the idea that this could be some widespread, accidental phenomenon. Not when she ran into Skinner two minutes after arriving outside her office. It all feels too planned. But it's the safer theory, for now.

"I'm guessing you haven't seen a spike in time travelers lately?" The humor she tries to put into it goes missing, stuck on the lump she's pretending isn't in her throat.