Mulder sets his food down on the coffee table, chopsticks sticking straight up inside a noodle nest. There's no thought to it, all his attention on reaching to cup her cheeks in his hands, trying to swipe away the tears. What kind of a jerk makes a pregnant woman weep? The kind who impregnated her, apparently.

"A year's a long time," he murmurs, a lump in his throat. For the first time, he really lets his gaze settle on her stomach, a hand twitching like he can't decide whether he has any right to touch. "And you're your own woman, Scully, I couldn't ask you to wait for me."

Except that he had, somehow. The child growing inside her ended up being the messenger. Part of me is still here. No matter what else happens, I'll never truly leave you. She'd waited, wanting to believe, and she's here now - and he is a colossal jackass.