You know, when I was a kid I had this ritual. I’d close my eyes before I walked into my room. Because I thought that one day when I opened them my sister would be there. Just lying in bed. Like nothing ever happened. You know I’m still walking into that room. Every day of my life.


“Scully, I was like you once. I didn’t know who to trust. Then I… I chose another path… another life, another fate, where I found my sister. The end of my world was unrecognizable and upside down. There was one thing that remained the same. You were my friend, and you told me the truth.”


Mulder, it’s the dim hope of finding that proof that’s kept us in this car, or one very much like it for more nights than I care to remember. Driving hundreds if not thousands of miles through neighborhoods and cities and towns where people are raising families and buying homes and playing with their kids and their dogs, and… in short, living their lives. While we – we – we just keep driving. Don’t you ever just want to stop? Get out of the damn car? Settle down and live something approaching a normal life? This *is* a normal life.