Those first few days are a bit of a blur, she says, and now he understands. She was upset - understandably, he remembers how manic he was after her abduction - and things went some kind of way with Agent Doggett, and now she's going to have a baby. Mulder will play the role of my friend, Mulder, the way he had for Emily, and that'll have to be enough for him.
She hasn't said it, of course, but he doesn't think Scully would. He's only recently back from the dead, and whatever else they aren't, they're still friends. She wouldn't want to hurt him. Explaining through euphemism and allusion is somehow a Scully thing, for all she's plainspoken about science; when feelings get involved, she guards every word a little more carefully.
There's something strangely comforting about the fact that it might have been his little swimmers that were the problem, not her ova. He hopes she's taken some solace from it; infertility had been such a crushing blow for her.
"Tell me about Agent Doggett," he says, and the doorbell rings. That's the food, probably, and a great excuse to distance himself from the pain that the truth's brought with it. He gets up to pay, then to bring the brown paper bag over to the coffee table. He doesn't believe in standing on ceremony - and isn't in the mood to wash dishes - but it feels like he should give her something nicer to eat out of than a takeout carton. Blame the fact that she's pregnant. "I don't remember his name. Want a plate? Or a bowl?"
no subject
Those first few days are a bit of a blur, she says, and now he understands. She was upset - understandably, he remembers how manic he was after her abduction - and things went some kind of way with Agent Doggett, and now she's going to have a baby. Mulder will play the role of my friend, Mulder, the way he had for Emily, and that'll have to be enough for him.
She hasn't said it, of course, but he doesn't think Scully would. He's only recently back from the dead, and whatever else they aren't, they're still friends. She wouldn't want to hurt him. Explaining through euphemism and allusion is somehow a Scully thing, for all she's plainspoken about science; when feelings get involved, she guards every word a little more carefully.
There's something strangely comforting about the fact that it might have been his little swimmers that were the problem, not her ova. He hopes she's taken some solace from it; infertility had been such a crushing blow for her.
"Tell me about Agent Doggett," he says, and the doorbell rings. That's the food, probably, and a great excuse to distance himself from the pain that the truth's brought with it. He gets up to pay, then to bring the brown paper bag over to the coffee table. He doesn't believe in standing on ceremony - and isn't in the mood to wash dishes - but it feels like he should give her something nicer to eat out of than a takeout carton. Blame the fact that she's pregnant. "I don't remember his name. Want a plate? Or a bowl?"