It's not as though she'd know who to go to. Her mother-- she can't show up on Maggie's doorstep like this. Even in '97 she barely talks to her friends; she can't imagine any of them will stick around another decade or two. Mulder may have had some falling out with Scully, but he seems-- mostly-- not to be holding that against her.
She leans into his embrace without a second thought, face pressed against his shoulder; if it's tear-damp when she pulls away he won't say anything, she knows. He feels... not the same, but the same. Her Mulder is in great shape, but he's somehow grown into himself; broad-shouldered and strong, maybe a little softer around the middle. She can't stop wondering about everything she's missed.
"God," she murmurs again, muffled. "I can't believe it."
But it's not a denial; it's deep, weary gratitude.
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She leans into his embrace without a second thought, face pressed against his shoulder; if it's tear-damp when she pulls away he won't say anything, she knows. He feels... not the same, but the same. Her Mulder is in great shape, but he's somehow grown into himself; broad-shouldered and strong, maybe a little softer around the middle. She can't stop wondering about everything she's missed.
"God," she murmurs again, muffled. "I can't believe it."
But it's not a denial; it's deep, weary gratitude.