Again, her eyes well up; coherence has deserted her, and she makes a low, inchoate sound of... everything. Awe and sorrow and longing and affection and shock. It's an undignified, awful sound, and she can't bring herself to care-- in front of anyone else it would be hideously embarrassing, but this is Mulder-- she trusts him in a way she didn't know she could.

"We have a son?" she asks. It isn't a question and it is. He keeps saying you, as though he had no part in any of it-- but she can't imagine having anyone else's child. Children. Children!

Finally she rouses herself enough to move, to look up at him. It has to be Mulder-- it couldn't be anyone else.

(Right?)