She's seen any number of losses... but there are things she's gained, too. She's not sure what it could be like-- going home to a world where she has to wait for it; whether knowing will change things, either for better or worse. Whether she's doomed herself to never having the son she's going to lose.
Or maybe-- maybe with foreknowledge, maybe they'll make better choices. Maybe Mulder will have her reassigned out of jealousy of his future self. There's no way to know.
"God, Mulder--" she says, and she can't quite choke out the rest-- that she loves him, too, that she always has-- around the lump in her throat.
"I know." He's too old for uncertainty, he thinks, for wondering whether Scully really means it. This one does, even if she can't say it; he can think back on a hundred different moments and know without question that she loves him. He holds her, all her bones too sharply drawn beneath her skin, and wonders how the hell he's going to save her this time.
You're not, a voice inside him says, and he can't decide if it's pessimism or not. She will.
There has to be a way, and if one of them is likely to figure it out, it's Scully. She found her way to him, and she'll find her way back. And for now - he can indulge in a few more minutes with her.
"You know it all now," he eventually murmurs. "Guess that wasn't the key to getting you home."
What did she expect, really-- that he'd explain and a door would open up before them, ready to walk through? That she'd end up about to cross the street again-- hopefully not dripping and naked, at least. It's impossible to know what to expect.
"I guess not," she sighs, and she's not sure if she even thinks that's a bad thing. It's not that she wants to die-- she very much doesn't-- but it's hard to want to leave him behind. Not knowing that he'll be alone.
She can't see any way to avoid that, to fix it for him. She can't change her own mind.
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Or maybe-- maybe with foreknowledge, maybe they'll make better choices. Maybe Mulder will have her reassigned out of jealousy of his future self. There's no way to know.
"God, Mulder--" she says, and she can't quite choke out the rest-- that she loves him, too, that she always has-- around the lump in her throat.
no subject
You're not, a voice inside him says, and he can't decide if it's pessimism or not. She will.
There has to be a way, and if one of them is likely to figure it out, it's Scully. She found her way to him, and she'll find her way back. And for now - he can indulge in a few more minutes with her.
"You know it all now," he eventually murmurs. "Guess that wasn't the key to getting you home."
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"I guess not," she sighs, and she's not sure if she even thinks that's a bad thing. It's not that she wants to die-- she very much doesn't-- but it's hard to want to leave him behind. Not knowing that he'll be alone.
She can't see any way to avoid that, to fix it for him. She can't change her own mind.
"But I'm all right, being right here."