jowls | open post.

Of all their options it seems both the most outlandish and the most effective. If anyone else tried it, it would sound insane-- but they've already dealt with some intense cases, and she can't imagine their lives get easier from here on out. Better to have Mulder explain it-- she doesn't think she can impersonate herself, for one thing, and they want to give the impression that she's truly out of commission.

"I'll let him know," she says, nodding. Mulder's reluctance to interact with Skinner is still unexplained, but she's not going to press it. He doesn't seem to distrust their-- well, his-- former supervisor, at least, so it's worth asking him to help.

"Let me just... get a glass of water, first." It won't take too long to get herself back under control, but it'll be easier to do it if they step away from each other for a moment, first. She looks down at the photograph of William, and then back at Mulder, holding it out silently for him to take. Better to have him keep it safe, as he's done for-- however long.

"Of course." He takes the photo back from Scully, watching her with a slight crease to his brow. "I'll, uh - I'll put this stuff away."

Truthfully, he'd like to follow her, to keep holding onto her. It's hard to believe just how long it's been since he last touched her, and giving up the privilege is difficult. But he also wants to make sure they don't lose anything they've looked at. Keeping the children's pictures in a lock-box might be depressing, but they're safe there - easy to grab, if something goes wrong.

While Scully's in the kitchen, he slips the pictures back in their envelope and the envelope back in the box, along with all her cash and IDs. He tries to ignore the way his heart aches when the lock catches. Once everything's shut up in the closet again, and he's glanced into what looks like Scully's dream bathroom, he heads out to the living room and pulls out his phone. Time to order them some lunch, since there's nothing edible left in the house.

Mulder is one of very few people she can let her guard down around-- but the other edge of that is, once she's let herself be vulnerable and open, it's not so easy to button back up in his presence. That doesn't mean it's easy for her to tear herself away-- and her fingers itch to take the picture back and study it more, looking for traces of one or the other of them in his pudgy features.

And it's strange to be apart from him, after finally getting close to him. But once she's out of the room-- once she figures out how to let the refrigerator give her the drink it so desperately wants her to have-- it's easier to catch her breath. She can't talk to Skinner as Future Bereaved Mother; she has to get back to responsible time-traveling Agent Scully mode.

Might as well get it over with-- Skinner is businesslike but clearly glad to hear from her, asking in carefully vague terms about their investigations. She fills him in on their plan, and he grudgingly agrees to back them up if the hospital needs proof. They hang up-- she promise to send updates if they find anything-- and she goes off to find Mulder again.

"Skinner's on board." So that's good news.

It takes a few tries, but he eventually gets connected to the right person and explains the situation. Fox Mulder - yes, like the animal - I think I'm probably still her emergency contact? What's happened is... He sounds suitably concerned, he thinks, and the woman on the other end seems relieved to know just where Scully's disappeared to.

"Same address," he's saying, when the young Scully comes into the room. "The one in Farrs Corner. If you send the paperwork there, I can make sure she gets it. Yes - thank you - goodbye -"

Once he hangs up, he looks up at Scully. "The hospital is, too. Now all that's left is figuring out what happened."

That's all good, then. She probably should've thought of this sooner-- made some attempt to salvage her own career-- but in Scully's defense it's been a few strange days. She hums thoughtfully, crossing the room to come sit by him.

Part of her still feels oddly shy about coming too close-- not because she doesn't want to, but because she's half convinced she'll scare him away. But it's not as daunting a prospect now, so she's less particular about personal space.

"I'm not sure if there's anything here to explain it," she admits. "But we can keep looking around."

He has no idea that she's approaching him with the idea that he might startle and run off, like a deer in the forest - and that's probably most of the reason he doesn't. Though he doesn't put his arm around her at the moment, his attention has shifted to rest entirely on her, in a way that feels all too familiar for him.

"In that case, we'll just look around to be nosy," Mulder replies, keeping his voice light. So far, he hasn't seen much to contradict Scully. The hints that she might not be as exhausted with him as he'd thought are like catnip, though; if he can find more information on anything here, he'll take it. "Have any working theories for what caused this? Maybe we can do a little more research while we're here."

In contrast, it's funny how careful he's been with her; it throws into contrast how careful he isn't, at home. And though she's always faintly aware of the fact that they're a little more cozy than coworkers ought to be... Knowing where it's headed, and experiencing his company without that aspect, it makes everything feel so much more obvious. It's no wonder people talk.

"It still feels almost arbitrary," she says around a sigh. "Why it would happen now.... Either definition of now." She hesitates, considering.

"Maybe there's some reason she'd be more useful to someone in 1997? Or-- vice versa, but that feels less likely, somehow."

Somehow, it had felt natural. It still does, when he can touch her - and now that they've closed off conversation about the kids, that closeness feels closed off to him, too. This Scully has never been with him; he has no more right to her than the one who disappeared.

"If I remember that part of '97 well," he starts, adding dryly, "and based on the amount of ketamine I did, I doubt I do...you were everything I needed. Maybe the next case..."

He spends a moment putting old memories in order, and then his face falls. "Damn it. It's about you, isn't it? Your cancer."

That answer seems likelier than some of the others she's entertained. It's chilling, and she can't entirely keep the dismay off her face.

"Do you think so?"

He'd know better than she would. Obviously, she knows things are going to get worse for her-- she's a doctor; her prognosis was never a question until she arrived here and found herself, impossibly, still alive.

"It's a lot of effort to go to," she adds, frowning. "If they just... wanted me out of the way."

"That's what I don't understand," he says, brow furrowing. "Why bother with time travel, when a gun works just as well? Are they trying to keep me from getting to them in the past?"

If his Scully is there, her Mulder will undoubtedly be doing everything in his power to solve this mystery, too focused on it to attend to anything else. If they want to keep him away from the specimen they find under the ice, this wouldn't be a terrible way to do it. But it's needlessly complicated.

She's going to need to know more, even if it's irresponsible of him to share. If she doesn't hold the same cards as he does, she's not going to be able to help him make sense of it. There's no denying that he'll need her brain on this as much as he needs his own; she's the most brilliant person he's ever known.

"You and I...we're going to fake my suicide." He makes a face, knowing just how awful it might sound to her. "While you handle the feds, I'm going to find you a cure. There's more to it than that, a lot more, but those are the pieces that matter. I don't think my trip to Canada is what they were trying to stop."

What a bleak line of thought. It would be much more efficient to just shoot me.

His explanation explains very little, which is at this point not terribly surprising. She's getting somewhat used to it, having to roll with wild ideas that lack context. Because she trust Mulder; he'll tell her what she needs, and try to spare her what she doesn't for as long as possible.

"We'll call it a possibility-- a strong one," she concedes. "But I'm not totally convinced. Time travel can't be that easy to set up."

Her suspicion that it has something to do with their relationship, or the rift between them, feels too silly to voice... Though being here hasn't done anything to dissuade her.

"She must have an office, or a desk, at least-- that feels like the next place to look."

"There must be one here," he agrees. If not a desk, at least something they can work with - a filing cabinet, a laptop with an external hard drive. "Failing that, I'll go to the hospital. They probably don't remember me all that well, but if I say I'm getting things you need, I might be able to get to her papers."

But she has to have documents here someplace. The doorbell chimes just as he's about to say something more about the possibilities.

"I took the liberty of ordering us some lunch," he informs her as he gets up. "We can figure it out after lunch."

The bell makes her jump, worried that some concerned neighbor has come over to check on the strange car in her driveway, but thankfully there's a simple explanation.

"Probably a good idea."

She hadn't noticed herself getting hungry, but now that he mentions it, it sounds good. Plus they don't have to bargain with the refrigerator.

They pass the rest of the day somewhat more calmly, looking through her older self's things, trying to strike a balance between respecting her privacy and seeking clues. Eventually, she gives up on it all and takes a long bath. All the luxury of a fine hotel, but with products and scents exactly to her taste.

And then... it's time to address the question of bed. She takes the liberty of borrowing her own pyjamas; they're nicer than the ones they bought at the mall, so apparently she's doing all right for herself.

"We ought to get some rest," she says, carefully casual. It's the opening move to a chess game of persuasion she's been thinking through since lunch.

"Sure," he agrees. Having spent a fitful hour or two pawing through Scully's house, seeing everything he's not supposed to know about, he eventually took one of her books off a shelf and started reading. There's something serene about the space, even if it's isolating at the same time; it's not a bad setting for a read. And then Scully comes out of the bath, hair sticking to her sweet-smelling skin, and it's almost like being a young man again. "See you in the morning."

He says it all so easily in part because he can't imagine he's about to be sold on the alternative.

If this were a vacation home, she'd see the appeal. It's nice, in every way you can easily measure-- admittedly the technology is off-putting, but if you're more used to it that probably isn't an issue. But she can't shake her unease at how empty it feels.

Mulder gives her the response she expects; she doesn't budge.

"There's plenty of room, and the bed's going to be more comfortable than that couch," she ventures.

He looks up sharply, his expression taking on that carefully neutral look again.

"Scully." Of course he wants to say yes. What sane man wouldn't? The love of his life, standing before him young and gorgeous, is telling him to come to bed. But things aren't that simple, and mixed in with that overwhelming desire is a sense of dread he can't put into words. "You're not obligated to put up with me, you know."

He might not, in the strictest sense of it, be her partner; but he's still her partner, and there's deep affection in the look she levels at him.

"I've been putting up with you by choice for four years," she points out. Of course it's easier for him to focus on the end of things, but from her perspective they've still got a long future. Surely he's owed a little grace for that.

"You've barely slept since I got here."

Don't think she doesn't know.

He can't help but smile - she sounds so much like herself, and like the woman she's become. In the moment, it's not hard to see her affection for him, whatever form it might take right now; she'd loved him long before either of them ever broached the subject. Mulder feels it, and he's missed that feeling - but it's coming back like a knife between the ribs.

"I've slept," he tells her, even if some part of him already knows he's lost. "I'll be fine, Scully. Really."

He gives the couch a little test bounce, as if to say see? this'll be fine.

There is, she's always thought, a tacit understanding between them that their professional boundaries are a necessary fiction. She's always had a sense-- at least, a suspicion-- that if things were different, they might be different as well. And with that theory proven, it feels plainly silly to stand on ceremony.

I'm the mother of your children, she doesn't say, but she certainly thinks it.

"Come on," she says, sympathetic but a little less gentle. "I'll sleep better if I don't have to worry about it."

Mulder watches her steadily, weighing the options: how badly he wants to be near her, the knowledge that she deserves better than anything he can give her. He doesn't get up, but he could be on the verge of it, the way a person looks just before they speak.

"I don't expect anything from you." That needs to be stated, he thinks, and while the obvious anything is sex, he means all of it. You don't have to take over for her. You probably shouldn't.

She'd gone into this assuming he'd protest the invitation; and she understands, at least in part. Of course it feels unfair to him, having laid all this at her feet-- the mysterious end of things, their daughter, their son.

"This isn't about expectations." Not even hers. She'd be lying if she said sex hadn't crossed her mind at all-- it's impossible not to be curious, knowing in the abstract that they'll get there. Have gotten there. A few years to their son's birth-- it can't even be all that long before they do.

"I'd rather not be alone," she adds, a little softer, taking one step further into the room. She hasn't forgotten how much better it had felt to be curled into his side; she couldn't have weathered those revelations alone. He can't really expect her to be apart from him now.

She says the things that works - that will always work - and he stands. In no world should Scully have to face the future alone, particularly when it's his fault she has to ponder it at all. If he hasn't brought her here, if he'd steered her away from the envelope...

...She probably would have found out anyway, he knows. On some level, he knows Scully's curiosity would win eventually. A scientist needs facts at her disposal; she wouldn't be willing to discard any potential source for long.

Still, it feels like he's led her to this precipice. From the start, he's the one who took her life away from the things she'd dreamed of. Without the X-Files, she'd be living some other, happier existence, surrounded by friends and family and children. They'd be with her, and they'd be safe.

"All right," is all he says, walking toward her.

It's just about what she expected; the appeal to his own well-being is useless, but framing it as service to hers gets him to move. Which makes a certain amount of sense, but leaves her a little uneasy. Maybe it's better if sex stays off the table-- not because she isn't interested, but because she's not sure if he is, genuinely.

As he reaches her she turns to lead them both down the hall. Strange, to be doing this for the first time when it's past what he must think of as the last, in a place unfamiliar to either of them. If the elder Dana Scully has a problem with Mulder being in her bed, quite frankly, her younger self fiercely doesn't care.

(It's probably mildly unhealthy to be inherently taking Mulder's side in a conflict with herself. But she doesn't care. She needed him, and he's here for her, and he always has been, and for her in this moment out of time, that's enough.)

Maybe it's too much, but she reaches for his hand as they walk.

"I don't want you feeling obligated," she says softly. "But you must know--" Better than anyone could, really-- "If I say I want you with me it's because I want you with me." And now she has the freedom to want it.

She's not wrong; at some point in his life, trust no one became trust Scully, and he still does. He always will, when it comes down to it: Scully, any Scully, is better to have on his side than just about anything else he can think of. Even when the one who's missing, who can hardly look at him when she's around, is still the best ally he could hope to have.

"It's not you I doubt." He's equally quiet, his fingers curled loose around her hand as they walk toward the bedroom. If she let go, his arm would drop back to his side without any drag.

It's not something she takes lightly, the faith he places in her. In this moment she feels, mostly, capable of living up to it-- for however long she gets, whether it's death or time that takes her back from him.

She doesn't say anything in response to that, but she doesn't let him go, either. Not until they get into the bedroom. Do they have sides, she wonders stupidly; but decides to take the side that seems right for her, where the nightstand with the phone cord is, and trust that Mulder will be all right on the other, whether or not it's the old preference. Funny to get hung up on it.

Feeling a little awkward-- but not at all because of Mulder's presence-- she slips under the covers. It's a comfortable mattress, not terribly different from the one at his house. So maybe he let her pick? Maybe they chose together and she got used to it?

"Come on," she murmurs, meaning to be encouraging, shooting a fond look his way. Faced with the opportunity she wants nothing more than to curl in against him, if he'll let her.

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