It's an awkward silence. After everything, that isn't surprising, but it makes something twist in her chest nonetheless. Standing here close enough to touch, feeling like he's still miles away; it isn't right. But, God, getting to see him again-- real and whole and healthy-- she never could have imagined getting this chance. Miracles heaped on miracles.
She should be happy. She is-- happy isn't the word-- she's relieved, she's overjoyed, she's filled to bursting with gratitude. Like a cosmic wrong has been righted, but it's still just slightly out of focus. Half of her wants to shake him until he cheers the fuck up, because how can he not be awestruck and elated?
(But she knows that's irrational. It's a lot to take in. It's-- impossible, even for Mulder, who has always believed the impossible.)
Clearing her throat, she takes a deep breath, trying to center herself.
"I could--" she starts, but she isn't sure what she's about to offer. I could stay. I could leave. Either one, leaving it up to him, carries the terrifying weight that he'll ask her to go. It seems impossible that he would, but today she's not ruling anything out. So she swallows and tries again, tries to stack the deck in her favor.
"I'd like to stay for a while." Gentle, but less neutral. The if that's okay is implied, as is the fact that if he tells her to leave, she's not going to make it to the elevator before she breaks down. Does he understand-- can he guess that she's probably spent more time here than in her own apartment, since she lost him? Feeding his fish, changing his sheets, keeping the untouched clutter on his desk reasonably dust-free?
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It's an awkward silence. After everything, that isn't surprising, but it makes something twist in her chest nonetheless. Standing here close enough to touch, feeling like he's still miles away; it isn't right. But, God, getting to see him again-- real and whole and healthy-- she never could have imagined getting this chance. Miracles heaped on miracles.
She should be happy. She is-- happy isn't the word-- she's relieved, she's overjoyed, she's filled to bursting with gratitude. Like a cosmic wrong has been righted, but it's still just slightly out of focus. Half of her wants to shake him until he cheers the fuck up, because how can he not be awestruck and elated?
(But she knows that's irrational. It's a lot to take in. It's-- impossible, even for Mulder, who has always believed the impossible.)
Clearing her throat, she takes a deep breath, trying to center herself.
"I could--" she starts, but she isn't sure what she's about to offer. I could stay. I could leave. Either one, leaving it up to him, carries the terrifying weight that he'll ask her to go. It seems impossible that he would, but today she's not ruling anything out. So she swallows and tries again, tries to stack the deck in her favor.
"I'd like to stay for a while." Gentle, but less neutral. The if that's okay is implied, as is the fact that if he tells her to leave, she's not going to make it to the elevator before she breaks down. Does he understand-- can he guess that she's probably spent more time here than in her own apartment, since she lost him? Feeding his fish, changing his sheets, keeping the untouched clutter on his desk reasonably dust-free?
Trying to bring their son closer to his father?
(Their son. Doesn't that mean anything to him?)