She falls against him heavily, with all the weight of her long waiting. There's something miserable about it, but in an oddly satisfying way. All these months she hasn't been able to grieve the way she needed to, because the only person who could have handled her in that state was the man she lost.

"I'm sure Skinner knows. And John must have guessed." Mulder, his territorial mistrust aside, knows how hard it is to keep secrets in their basement office.

She threads her hand into his to keep it close. Tomorrow she'll pull out the imaging and dig up a stethoscope to hear the tiny heartbeat; for now she just wants him close to her.

"My mom misses you. She knows-- I mean. I told her about the IVF. After, when it didn't work, and I think she knew..." she shakes her head a little. "When I told her I was pregnant-- I didn't have to say it."

She'd seen the understanding, the mingled joy and horror, on her mother's face.

Putting the memory aside, she presses her cheek against his arm.

"Since--" she pauses, starts over. "We haven't talked about it since the funeral. But I know she'll be so glad to see you."