Part of her feels guilty for not comforting him in turn-- she can't imagine a world where she had a child that wasn't his-- but she doesn't have the wherewithal. All she can do is stay slumped against him and look at her daughter and listen to his explanation.
And it's... not much of an explanation; but perhaps that's inevitable. She should know better than to think she can change the future, sitting here where the future is the past. But it's a strange thin to say, she thinks; of course she would have loved her. Of course.
But before she can ask for more--
"Oh," she gasps, wide-eyed, looking closer at the grainy image. A son. She stares in awe at the scan, the graceful curve of his little body; the smudged shape of a tiny hand. Automatically, she looks up at the top to glean what information she can-- early 2001; only a few years from now.
"Mulder, oh my God," she whispers, curling her fingers urgently in his shirt. "William," she echoes, trying it out, equal parts delighted and terrified at the prospect. Two children-- two lost children?
no subject
And it's... not much of an explanation; but perhaps that's inevitable. She should know better than to think she can change the future, sitting here where the future is the past. But it's a strange thin to say, she thinks; of course she would have loved her. Of course.
But before she can ask for more--
"Oh," she gasps, wide-eyed, looking closer at the grainy image. A son. She stares in awe at the scan, the graceful curve of his little body; the smudged shape of a tiny hand. Automatically, she looks up at the top to glean what information she can-- early 2001; only a few years from now.
"Mulder, oh my God," she whispers, curling her fingers urgently in his shirt. "William," she echoes, trying it out, equal parts delighted and terrified at the prospect. Two children-- two lost children?