She may be young, but she wouldn't call herself hopeful. Scully's gotten here after the end of things; and even if she doesn't understand exactly why, she still knows him, and for her that's enough. Maybe she can't have London or the Bahamas or Christmas in the mountains, but she can have this much, this night, this moment.
At home she's denied herself even that much-- because they have to, for the work; because she knows her days are numbered and she'd thought, if she let herself tell him, that it would destroy him.
But as it turns out-- he's lost her, and he's still here. That's not hope, or belief; it's a quantifiable fact that he's survived her.
And maybe, still, she shouldn't. That kind of thing is easier to see in hindsight-- for God's sake, in med school, if she could go back in time she'd hate herself. Maybe the Dana Scully who moved to this house, who chose the things in it, who didn't tell Mulder how to find her-- maybe she'd scoff the same way, at her younger counterpart whispering an affirmation and kissing him again, sliding closer to him so they don't have to stretch to meet, her arm spread over his chest now.
But she thinks-- there must have been good times, and even if she'll leave, they have to count for something. Just because something ends doesn't mean it shouldn't have started. If she knows herself at all, she wouldn't begrudge herself this. And if she would-- then, frankly, to hell with the future; she'll take the present by the horns for as long as she can.
no subject
At home she's denied herself even that much-- because they have to, for the work; because she knows her days are numbered and she'd thought, if she let herself tell him, that it would destroy him.
But as it turns out-- he's lost her, and he's still here. That's not hope, or belief; it's a quantifiable fact that he's survived her.
And maybe, still, she shouldn't. That kind of thing is easier to see in hindsight-- for God's sake, in med school, if she could go back in time she'd hate herself. Maybe the Dana Scully who moved to this house, who chose the things in it, who didn't tell Mulder how to find her-- maybe she'd scoff the same way, at her younger counterpart whispering an affirmation and kissing him again, sliding closer to him so they don't have to stretch to meet, her arm spread over his chest now.
But she thinks-- there must have been good times, and even if she'll leave, they have to count for something. Just because something ends doesn't mean it shouldn't have started. If she knows herself at all, she wouldn't begrudge herself this. And if she would-- then, frankly, to hell with the future; she'll take the present by the horns for as long as she can.