As Scully finally looked up, Mulder held up his hand, silencing her. His attention seemed to catch on it as he did. He drew both his hands up until they were between them, palms facing upward, towards the diner's cracked and peeling ceiling. Staring at his hands he spoke. Whether more to himself or to Scully, neither of them knew.
"Do you see these hands?" He began, looking away, his voice weary. "When I started work at the Bureau, these were the hands of a young man - just a boy, really, a stupid, naive boy, who knew nothing of life, although he thought he did. But look at them now. Look... at what I've become."
Sensing the tension in his voice, Scully watched, intrigued and concerned as her
partner clenched his fists. He squeezed so hard his knuckles whitened and she could see the veins outlined pale on his wrists. Again he drew his hands up, burying his strongly tanned face in them, hiding himself from the woman he shared the booth, and until recently, his life with.
Scully sat rigid, watched her partner helplessly as he went through a private agony. Her own anguish drained away, forgotten as she realised that behind his hands, Mulder was crying.
Reaching out, she clasped Mulder's hands between her own and drew them to the table, away from his face. Their two pairs of eyes stayed fixed on their entwined hands, neither able to look the other in the eye just yet, neither knowing what they might find if they did. Scully gently stroked his clenched fists and watched as they opened, like a fern frond unfurling in the sun Mulder, you just keep unfolding like a flower. There was a row of tiny half-moons etched on his palms where his fingernails had dug in. In two places he had drawn blood, so tight had been his grip. Scully wiped the drops away with her fingers and took his trembling hands in hers.
Only then was she able to look up at her partner's face.
His eyes were still downturned, fixed on their interlocked fingers. What went on behind the deep hazel eyes at that moment, only he knew. He lifted his head, his brown hair falling unnoticed in his eyes, to meet Scully's gaze. He opened his mouth to speak but it was her turn to silence him with a look he knew so well, had missed so keenly, a look which warned him that if he
spoke now there would be hell to pay. So Mulder kept silent, holding onto her and blinking rapidly, a smile forming even as the tears dried on his cheeks.
"I've missed you," Scully said, breaking the heavy silence that lay between them. She squeezed Mulder's hands, smiled as he returned the gentle pressure. "I don't know where you've been and I don't know why you left me, but I've missed you. And I'm glad - more glad than I think I can say - that you've come back to me, Mulder." Scully looked down at her hands again, thinking how sentimental she must sound to him.
Watching as a faint blush stole over his partner's pale cheeks, Mulder's smile grew. "I've missed you, too, Scully," he said in a voice so low as to be almost inaudible. "You have no idea how I've missed you."
"Do you see these hands?" He began, looking away, his voice weary. "When I started work at the Bureau, these were the hands of a young man - just a boy, really, a stupid, naive boy, who knew nothing of life, although he thought he did. But look at them now. Look... at what I've become."
Sensing the tension in his voice, Scully watched, intrigued and concerned as her
partner clenched his fists. He squeezed so hard his knuckles whitened and she could see the veins outlined pale on his wrists. Again he drew his hands up, burying his strongly tanned face in them, hiding himself from the woman he shared the booth, and until recently, his life with.
Scully sat rigid, watched her partner helplessly as he went through a private agony. Her own anguish drained away, forgotten as she realised that behind his hands, Mulder was crying.
Reaching out, she clasped Mulder's hands between her own and drew them to the table, away from his face. Their two pairs of eyes stayed fixed on their entwined hands, neither able to look the other in the eye just yet, neither knowing what they might find if they did. Scully gently stroked his clenched fists and watched as they opened, like a fern frond unfurling in the sun Mulder, you just keep unfolding like a flower. There was a row of tiny half-moons etched on his palms where his fingernails had dug in. In two places he had drawn blood, so tight had been his grip. Scully wiped the drops away with her fingers and took his trembling hands in hers.
Only then was she able to look up at her partner's face.
His eyes were still downturned, fixed on their interlocked fingers. What went on behind the deep hazel eyes at that moment, only he knew. He lifted his head, his brown hair falling unnoticed in his eyes, to meet Scully's gaze. He opened his mouth to speak but it was her turn to silence him with a look he knew so well, had missed so keenly, a look which warned him that if he
spoke now there would be hell to pay. So Mulder kept silent, holding onto her and blinking rapidly, a smile forming even as the tears dried on his cheeks.
"I've missed you," Scully said, breaking the heavy silence that lay between them. She squeezed Mulder's hands, smiled as he returned the gentle pressure. "I don't know where you've been and I don't know why you left me, but I've missed you. And I'm glad - more glad than I think I can say - that you've come back to me, Mulder." Scully looked down at her hands again, thinking how sentimental she must sound to him.
Watching as a faint blush stole over his partner's pale cheeks, Mulder's smile grew. "I've missed you, too, Scully," he said in a voice so low as to be almost inaudible. "You have no idea how I've missed you."
