Again, he gives her an eminently reasonable reply. It's a surprise, and mostly a pleasant one, though there's that little part of her, still frustrated by the bad years, that can't help wondering if it's intentional-- a way to needle her, to say see, you had no reason to leave, everything could have been fine if you stayed. She knows he doesn't mean that-- even apart she trusts him too much to seriously entertain the idea-- but quieting her own worst impulses is easier said than done.
She doesn't expect him to be over them, exactly. Obviously she isn't-- if she was she wouldn't be here, watching him across the table and wishing they were leaving together. Her brand of fantasy is both more and less intimate than his: she misses being able to lean on his shoulder, misses waking up on cold mornings in a warm embrace. Scully has always been good at being alone, and that's why she's all right without him. But she misses not having to be alone.
"I guess I am," she concedes, careful. "That seems fair."
But if he'll be as reasonable in meddling as he has been responding to it, maybe that's not the end of the world. She'll at least hear him out.
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She doesn't expect him to be over them, exactly. Obviously she isn't-- if she was she wouldn't be here, watching him across the table and wishing they were leaving together. Her brand of fantasy is both more and less intimate than his: she misses being able to lean on his shoulder, misses waking up on cold mornings in a warm embrace. Scully has always been good at being alone, and that's why she's all right without him. But she misses not having to be alone.
"I guess I am," she concedes, careful. "That seems fair."
But if he'll be as reasonable in meddling as he has been responding to it, maybe that's not the end of the world. She'll at least hear him out.