Maybe she could have moved on, if she'd wanted. If she worked for it. She never thought of the people she dated as long-term prospects, and frankly if any of them had wanted that, she might have fled. The excuses would be easy to make: she worked too much, she was too old, she couldn't offer anyone a family.
More than once she'd considered making a cleaner break, not because she wanted it but because she thought he deserved it. That if she couldn't stay with him she ought to set him free; their lingering legal entanglements were a lifeline to check in on him, to meddle, an excuse to talk to him when they had so many reasons to avoid each other.
When she left, it wasn't because she wanted to. She'd never quite known if he understood that, if it would even matter to him. Now-- years later, in their bed again, in his arms-- she can only feel incredibly fortunate. Forgiven, maybe. But lucky above all else.
"Yeah, Mulder?" She mumbles back. She laces her fingers with his, yawning against his pillow.
no subject
More than once she'd considered making a cleaner break, not because she wanted it but because she thought he deserved it. That if she couldn't stay with him she ought to set him free; their lingering legal entanglements were a lifeline to check in on him, to meddle, an excuse to talk to him when they had so many reasons to avoid each other.
When she left, it wasn't because she wanted to. She'd never quite known if he understood that, if it would even matter to him. Now-- years later, in their bed again, in his arms-- she can only feel incredibly fortunate. Forgiven, maybe. But lucky above all else.
"Yeah, Mulder?" She mumbles back. She laces her fingers with his, yawning against his pillow.