"Horrible." It comes out a whisper, the weight of William's absence pushing the word out from his lungs. And his fault, ultimately. He'd wanted to spare her, wanted her to have comfort and family and the time necessary to love their son the way he deserved - and he'd abandoned her to the wolves. "Worse for you than for me. You were brave, Scully - it took courage to give him a chance to grow up somewhere safe. But I don't think you've ever forgiven yourself."

And why should she? He's never found a way to forgive his own actions, the mistaken beliefs that - in retrospect - feel like cowardice. Was he really leading the Cigarette-Smoking Man's people on a merry chase? Or was he running from the true weight of fatherhood, trying to have his cake and eat it, too? You're mine, but I can't give up the fight to protect you. I can't stop picking at the truth for you.

It's all he knew how to do, and all he knows now, and no sane person could blame Scully for wanting something different.