"Not even -" The end of the sentence could go any number of ways. She's not at the center of some kind of HR crisis, at least; it sounds like the Bureau couldn't care less, provided she doesn't make it a problem for them.
He tries again, pulling her closer in a one-armed hug. He's not letting go of the baby, or the beginnings of the baby; his hand's restless on her stomach, though, shifting between resting flat and his palm lifting unconsciously, until only his fingertips are touching her. Some instinctive part of him is ready to dribble. I'm going to buy you a basketball. And a ball and glove for catch. A football, a baseball bat, a tennis racket - we're going to try out everything, just to see what you like. I'm going to teach you to swim. We'll go running - "What does your mother think of all of this?"
Mrs. Scully must know; he remembers a look she gave him, years ago now, when Scully was comatose and the doctors didn't have much hope, even if Melissa swore up and down she could feel her soul in there. She's a smart woman, Scully's mother, and she saw it even then. When her daughter came home, partnerless and pregnant, she must have guessed how half of it happened.
Which makes her smarter than me. But it leaves him uncertain still, wondering whether he's going to be welcomed back with open arms or an accusatory glare. He couldn't blame anyone for the latter.
no subject
He tries again, pulling her closer in a one-armed hug. He's not letting go of the baby, or the beginnings of the baby; his hand's restless on her stomach, though, shifting between resting flat and his palm lifting unconsciously, until only his fingertips are touching her. Some instinctive part of him is ready to dribble. I'm going to buy you a basketball. And a ball and glove for catch. A football, a baseball bat, a tennis racket - we're going to try out everything, just to see what you like. I'm going to teach you to swim. We'll go running - "What does your mother think of all of this?"
Mrs. Scully must know; he remembers a look she gave him, years ago now, when Scully was comatose and the doctors didn't have much hope, even if Melissa swore up and down she could feel her soul in there. She's a smart woman, Scully's mother, and she saw it even then. When her daughter came home, partnerless and pregnant, she must have guessed how half of it happened.
Which makes her smarter than me. But it leaves him uncertain still, wondering whether he's going to be welcomed back with open arms or an accusatory glare. He couldn't blame anyone for the latter.