He watches her, as she goes about her day.
It no longer feels furtive, something glancing and rare. It feels good, to know he is able to look at her without the fear that she will read him and know his thoughts winding serpentine though the moment.
The difference is now he knows that she will read him and he is no longer afraid of what that means for them both. The difference is now the moment has no taint to it.
She plays with her hair now, when she knows that he's looking at her, something he finds infinitely delightful and which she would stop immediately if she knew he found it infinitely delightful. Whether she's lost in a book or in her garden or some documentary on TV there's always a moment when she'll go still; a beat where her attention shifts, an instant where everything slows and he can practically hear her pulse keeping time with his. And then everything will resume its usual rhythm, except she'll pull a strand of hair over her shoulder and start winding it around her finger.
He can't describe the immeasurable satisfaction it gives him, this gift of her awareness. It means everything to know, intrinsically, that she sees him. Especially now that the freedom to simply look at her may be collateral damage in a game he can't yet put a name to.
There is something coming.
The sixth sense that has somehow become linked to the other five is humming under his skin, pulling at him. He is waking in the night more often now. The only thing that stops the panic is her breathing, and her sleepy hand rubbing his back, her usual, semi-conscious response to his nightmares.
He's afraid, but there is also rage, and helplessness, and a sense of inevitability, of resignation. This is the pattern of their life together and he supposes he should be grateful that they've had this long an intermission.
She knows it, too. She's distancing her herself from him and reaching towards him at the same time in her own unique Scully way. She likes to pretend he doesn't see her vulnerabilities and he pretends he doesn't, until they both drop the act and stop following the scripts they started writing the moment they met.
"Mulder?" She has a book half open beside her on the couch, and he realises he's been sitting at his desk staring into nothing.
"Problem, Scully?" He immediately regrets his laconic defensiveness.
"Why would there be a problem, Mulder? You'd think by this time I know whether you staring into space means trouble or simply that you're feeling pensive." There's a certain bite to her tone that has him wincing, even as she picks up her book again and proceeds to ignore him.
He swings out of his chair and crouches in front of her, waiting in silence until her brow furrows and she looks over the top of her book at him. He blinks solemnly at her. "So, you're saying there's a scale."
She looks seriously back at him. "Yes. It's quite similar to the Richter."
"As opposed to the Kinsey?" He winks at her and is rewarded as her lips twitch.
"I hardly think staring into space is similar to the Kinsey scale." She blinks once at him and then returns to her book.
He puts a finger at the top of her book and pulls it away from her face. "Depends what I was thinking about, don't you think?"
She smirks. "I'll go you two to one it wasn't sex." Something must have shown in his face as her smile fades. "What, Mulder?"
He sighs, and lets her pull him up to sit beside her. "I don't know." He has his suspicions, but he won't break the fragile peace they exist within until he's damn sure he can't stem whatever tide is coming.
She regards him silently, making one of the impenetrable internal decisions she's so good at. "Then how about I sit beside you until you do?"
He nods gratefully, waits until she settles against him and picks up her book again. Then he begins to study the crown of her head, the different colours in the strands of hair she has started weaving through her fingers.
Every time he leaves her he does this. He stockpiles moments to keep within himself, memories to conjure her to him in his darkest, loneliest moments.
He won't share this with her. They have gone through too much together for them not to face head on whatever is headed their way.
And they will.
And the fear eating at him makes him keep her close in any way he can.
A/N Thank you for reading!