"And I want to believe, I need to believe, that we didn't treat him like trash."
He doesn't know what to say. Usually he's the one to give a speech, to talk her down from whatever emotional turmoil that's haunting her. But he's having trouble figuring out how to heal a hurt that he himself has not yet overcome. So instead he simply lets her rest her head against his shoulder and together they watch the tide in silence.
After calming down a bit she rises, picking up her mother's urn and walking towards the sea. He remains seated, knowing her well enough to know that she needs to do this part by herself. She stands at the shore for a few moments before removing the lid of the urn and releasing its contents into the water. Turning around, she makes her way back to where he's seated. He stands. As she comes closer he holds out his hand for her. She takes it without hesitation. He leads her back to the car, making sure she's in her seat before getting behind the wheel and pulling away from the beach.
The ride is silent, but it's the comfortable silence that's come from spending countless hours in a car together. He glances over and sees she's looking out the window, but if she's realized where they're going she doesn't say anything. They pass through the familiar countryside and before long it becomes clear that he's not driving her back to D.C. He's taking her home. Their home.
It's not long before they arrive. He stops at the gate, getting out to push it open. He sucks in a large breath, and then another, mentally preparing himself for whatever is about to happen. Getting back in the car, he goes slowly down the driveway, giving her time to object. She doesn't.
He walks her up to the house, pulls the keys out of his pocket. Holding the door open, he lets her enter first. Not much has changed since she left. It's messier, he thinks, now that she's not here to make sure he's taking care of himself on the bad days. She had taken most of her belongings when she moved out, but the few things she'd forgotten remain exactly where she'd left them. He had been too afraid to touch them, that moving them would signify she was gone for good.
He takes her jacket, hangs it on the closet door. When he turns back around he sees that her eyes are filling up with tears. He steps towards her, arms already opening. She closes the gap between them, snaking her arms around his waist.
It's been so long, far too long, since he's held her like this. Yet as he wraps his arms around her, he's overwhelmed by how familiar it feels. The way her head fits neatly under his floral scent of her perfume. The warmth of her body pressed against his. In any other situation it would have been too much for him to handle. But the moment is far from romantic, her shoulders shaking, her tears dampening his shirt. He carefully leads her to the couch, pulling her onto his lap as he sits. She's sobbing openly now. He comforts her as best he can, running a hand gently up and down her back.
It takes a while, but eventually the tears stop. He leans back slightly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair off of her face. She looks up at him, her beautiful blue eyes rimmed with red.
"Do you want me to make you something?" he asks, knowing she hadn't eaten since that morning.
"I'd love a cup of tea," she replies, her voice hoarse from crying. "But right now I need to take a shower."
A signature shit-eating grin spreads across his face. "Is that an invitation, Scully?"
She rolls her eyes in the way only she can. Untangling herself from him, she stands, making her way to the stairs. He watches her walk away, trying hard to suppress all the emotions brought on by seeing her back in this house. His mind is flooded with almost ten years worth of memories, the best years of his life. But most of all, he remembers the day she left. There had been no yelling, no crying. Just a packed suitcase and a promise that this goodbye would not be forever.
He forces himself to get up from the couch, effectively putting all thoughts of that day out of his mind. Moving to the kitchen, he puts on a pot of water. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through a few news sites to distract himself until she returns. After a few minutes he hears the familiar sound of her bare feet on the stares.
When she enters the kitchen he looks up, and for a moment he has to remind himself to breathe. Her legs are barely covered by a pair of shorts she must have left behind, but that's not the part that does him in. No, it's the fact that she's wearing his sweatshirt, a gray crew neck from his days at Oxford, that takes his breath away. It's been years since he's seen her in his clothes and he'd forgotten what it does to him. As usual, she seems aware of the effect she has on him, smirking when his eyes finally meet hers.
"My eyes are up here, Mulder."
He laughs, relieved to see that her sense of humor is returning. "C'mon Scully, you know I only ever liked you for your body."
That earns him another eye roll, but he can tell she's in better spirits now than she has been all day. He walks over to the cupboard and pulls out a pair of mismatched mugs before taking the pot of tea off the stove. As he pours the tea, he can feel her eyes on him. Turning to face her, he's surprised to see that she's looking at him in a way he never thought he'd see again. It's the same look she gave him after their first kiss, after the first time they held their son. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to look Dana Scully in the eyes and know that she loves him. For the first time in five years, he feels the joy of knowing that the love of his life loves him in return. He fights the urge to smile, not sure if she's yet conscious of her own feelings. Instead, he hands her a mug and follows her into the living room.
He's not surprised at how close she sits to him on the couch, nor does she seems surprised when he puts his arm around her. Everything about the situation feels so familiar, as if she never left at all. He reaches for the remote, figuring they could both use something to take their mind off of the past few days. Flipping through a few channels, he stops when he finds one that's playing The Princess Bride. He knows it's one of her favorites, not that she would ever admit to it.
About twenty minutes into the movie she's asleep on his shoulder. He considers waking her up so she doesn't have to sleep on the couch, but he decides that getting into a bed with him might be farther than she's willing to go tonight. So he reaches for the blanket folded on the back of the couch, using his free arm to cover them both with it. Remembering that she's like a furnace when she sleeps he shifts slightly, trying to create a little space between them. She's unfazed by his attempts, immediately moving closer and wrapping an arm around him. He can't help but smile this time. Closing his eyes, he feels a sense of relaxation that only comes when she is next to him. So even though his arm is going numb and he's practically sweating, he falls asleep almost instantly, sleeping soundly for the first time in five years.