He fires a shot, and it lands - and he hates himself a little for it. But Scully doesn't comment on it; she's taking the high road here, and Mulder knows he doesn't deserve that mercy. What he deserves is probably a tense argument in a diner booth and six months of silence. When he gets something kinder, he takes it and tries to return it in kind.

"We'll see what kind of cell reception I can get in the mountains. Last time I was up there, smartphones didn't exist." He doesn't want to talk about that occasion, though - making his way to an ice cave in search of an alien corpse while Scully lay dying of cancer. It'll be summer this time, warm and green, and he won't be on a mountain. He'll still be alone, but this time, it'll actually be his fault, and he can live with that. "And you can tell me about..."

He's still not sure what she does in her spare time. He's not sure she knows, either; sometimes he wonders if half the reason she works so hard and so long is to avoid having to think when there's no more work to do. If she's taken up hobbies, she hasn't shared them. If she has friends, she hasn't told him about them. If all she does is lay down on the couch to watch TV or read a book, he'd still be interested, but even he knows he's lost any right to make demands.

"Whatever you want," he finishes, and something in his voice softens. "I just want to hear from you."