[Scully glances up. It isn't startled, but the motion is sharp enough to betray that the interruption is unwelcome. All the same, after a few moments of searching assessment, she offers a cursory smile. It isn't very genuine, except in its wryness.]
I'm thinking it's not a very good idea to brand people like cattle and unleash them on the world with the expectation that they're going to be interested in doing you a favour.
[Maybe that's what all the smiling faces are about. Scully doesn't really trust them any more than the rest of it, inclined though she might be to trust in the goodness of regular people. Or the potential for goodness; it's hard to tell anymore what she should think of that class of humanity she doesn't encounter on the day to day. For years beyond bank tellers and baristas it seems they've all been extraordinary, or at least bound by extraordinary circumstances. That she's taking this relatively well, that she's lucid, is evident of the fact that she hasn't worked out how to rationalize it all yet. That will happen. That's her job, after all, and her job is just about all she has.
There are, of course, perks. Not all of it is terrible. All of a sudden she misses Mulder's languid conversation, the easy, but carefully invested style of his debating, how together they could face matters of gravitas from behind the safety of a smile. All this passes as she looks up at the interloper consideringly, thumb stilling atop the tattoo.
It would be nice to be able to trust him.]
Thinking I'd like my life back.
[What she's said catches up with her after it's spoken, sparking a flash of memory:
You have a life, Dana.
I don't know what I have.
She'd felt so stagnant once. Unwillingly torn away from a normal life, a husband and a family, for the sake of someone else's crusade and her own addiction to danger, rebellion, and so many other things; she'd been angry. Angry at Mulder, angry at herself, angry at the vast and faceless horde of other people who had set out to destroy her along with what she knows. It wasn't where she'd thought she'd end up when she took the assignment to work with Fox Mulder, and if she had known, maybe she'd never have taken it at all.
But here she is, telling a stranger honestly and without hesitation that she wants that life back. That she would take it back equally honestly and without hesitation.
Scully ducks her head to hide the subtle shift in her expression, the pain that tugs at the corners of her mouth. When she looks up again, she's wearing another of those tellingly professional smiles.]
no subject
I'm thinking it's not a very good idea to brand people like cattle and unleash them on the world with the expectation that they're going to be interested in doing you a favour.
[Maybe that's what all the smiling faces are about. Scully doesn't really trust them any more than the rest of it, inclined though she might be to trust in the goodness of regular people. Or the potential for goodness; it's hard to tell anymore what she should think of that class of humanity she doesn't encounter on the day to day. For years beyond bank tellers and baristas it seems they've all been extraordinary, or at least bound by extraordinary circumstances. That she's taking this relatively well, that she's lucid, is evident of the fact that she hasn't worked out how to rationalize it all yet. That will happen. That's her job, after all, and her job is just about all she has.
There are, of course, perks. Not all of it is terrible. All of a sudden she misses Mulder's languid conversation, the easy, but carefully invested style of his debating, how together they could face matters of gravitas from behind the safety of a smile. All this passes as she looks up at the interloper consideringly, thumb stilling atop the tattoo.
It would be nice to be able to trust him.]
Thinking I'd like my life back.
[What she's said catches up with her after it's spoken, sparking a flash of memory:
You have a life, Dana.
I don't know what I have.
She'd felt so stagnant once. Unwillingly torn away from a normal life, a husband and a family, for the sake of someone else's crusade and her own addiction to danger, rebellion, and so many other things; she'd been angry. Angry at Mulder, angry at herself, angry at the vast and faceless horde of other people who had set out to destroy her along with what she knows. It wasn't where she'd thought she'd end up when she took the assignment to work with Fox Mulder, and if she had known, maybe she'd never have taken it at all.
But here she is, telling a stranger honestly and without hesitation that she wants that life back. That she would take it back equally honestly and without hesitation.
Scully ducks her head to hide the subtle shift in her expression, the pain that tugs at the corners of her mouth. When she looks up again, she's wearing another of those tellingly professional smiles.]
How about you?