"You were." He's no stranger to weeping, but as long as Scully's in the middle of a little jag, he has the vague sense that he should keep it together for her sake. If tears prick his eyes, they mostly disappear into her hair. He squeezes her hand, his voice affectionate. "What kind of lunatic digs up a man whose funeral was three months ago? That's crazy, Scully, it really is. But it's a good kind of crazy, because you were right."

And anyone who doubted her is going to be kicking themselves to the end of their days. "Of course, now you're going to have to answer every question I can think of about the last couple of months. Did I miss opening day? Who's in the playoffs this year? Anything good on TV?"