She sleeps better than she has been, which stands to reason; there's been that tension she at first couldn't understand, and then couldn't fix, finally broken down in the quiet darkness of her future self's bed. Maybe she owes herself an apology for that, but she imagines at least in the future she'll understand her own stubborn refusal to be sorry for any of it.
Mulder is always a steadying presence, the one thing that fundamentally makes sense to her in a world that rarely does, and that apparently works on her unconscious mind as well. There was a time, early in their partnership, when she'd tried to resist that sense of safety in his embrace, insistent that she didn't need it, conscious of how it looked: her youth, her femininity, her stature making her a damsel in distress. But he's never respected her less while offering comfort. It's taken time to understand that accepting protection doesn't mean she needs it. She can stand on her own, but she doesn't have to do it alone.
He's gone when she rouses, but the rainfall sound of the shower answers her questions instantly. Disinclined to lounge, she decides to try her luck figuring out the coffee machine-- the entire kitchen seems like a science fiction parody but she's got determination and the innate knowledge of how Dana Scully organizers cabinets on her side, and by the time he gets out of the shower, the victorious scent should guide him to the kitchen, where she's dressed in rumpled pyjamas, examining a tetra-pak of almond milk.
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Mulder is always a steadying presence, the one thing that fundamentally makes sense to her in a world that rarely does, and that apparently works on her unconscious mind as well. There was a time, early in their partnership, when she'd tried to resist that sense of safety in his embrace, insistent that she didn't need it, conscious of how it looked: her youth, her femininity, her stature making her a damsel in distress. But he's never respected her less while offering comfort. It's taken time to understand that accepting protection doesn't mean she needs it. She can stand on her own, but she doesn't have to do it alone.
He's gone when she rouses, but the rainfall sound of the shower answers her questions instantly. Disinclined to lounge, she decides to try her luck figuring out the coffee machine-- the entire kitchen seems like a science fiction parody but she's got determination and the innate knowledge of how Dana Scully organizers cabinets on her side, and by the time he gets out of the shower, the victorious scent should guide him to the kitchen, where she's dressed in rumpled pyjamas, examining a tetra-pak of almond milk.