Somehow, it had felt natural. It still does, when he can touch her - and now that they've closed off conversation about the kids, that closeness feels closed off to him, too. This Scully has never been with him; he has no more right to her than the one who disappeared.

"If I remember that part of '97 well," he starts, adding dryly, "and based on the amount of ketamine I did, I doubt I do...you were everything I needed. Maybe the next case..."

He spends a moment putting old memories in order, and then his face falls. "Damn it. It's about you, isn't it? Your cancer."