"I don't like pointing guns at pregnant women anymore than I like them pointing guns at me." He hands her gun back. He sighs. Had he any hair, he would have run his hand through it in uneasy distress. "This had gone too far, Scully."
"No," she said, her voice lined with fear. "That's what's wrong here. It hasn't gone far enough." She swallows. The lump in her throat had been an indefinite obstacle lately. Her eyes brush his hand. "I need those car keys." The desperation in her voice is reminiscent of pathetic, and it does not go unnoticed by him.
"And what do you think you're going to do?" He questions her, asking her to trust him with what she knows. He knows that they won't get anywhere unless trust is tacit between them. He flinches slightly, internally, thinking of Mulder and how she trusted him from the very beginning, no secrets, no questions, no lies. He pushed away feelings reeking envy and looked into her tear-stained eyes.
"Look, we are being hampered here, by the FBI, by John Doggett, by doubt, by our own mistrust. Whatever it is, it is working, as long as we let it." She tries to convince him. She tries to convince him like Mulder tried to convince her a thousand and one times before. How ironic that she was begging for faith when she so sparingly handed it out.
"You told me Mulder wouldn't allow it. Wouldn't let me ruin my career over this. Over him." He sees the tears, forces his gaze from hers and continues, bitter resentment fueling his words that are spilling concern. "But what about you, Scully? I mean, my God, you've got even more at stake."
Her pupils flicker. The bags under her beautiful blue eyes stretch. The veins pulse at the top of her forehead in a vain effort to prevent tears. She licks her lips, trying to let words out without letting pain seep through. "I can't take the chance that I'm never going to see him again."
