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The soft skin of her chin, her cheek, beneath his rough finger tip for barely a moment, she inclines her head so he can better see where someone or something has so damaged her. How dare they, then, how dare I.
She hunts Mulder like a hound on his scent and Walter meets them at the hospital, once the world has been maybe saved. Leaning against an empty reception desk with his hands in his coat pockets, he hears residents or nurses shout and cheer through the thin walls. A new year.
He scuffs his shoe against the lino. Hinges rattle to his left, Mulder’s good arm slips off Scully’s shoulders when Walter is spotted. Behind them, the door bangs shut.
“Happy new year,” Mulder says, his hand on the small of her back. What it must be like, to touch her so frequently and without thought.
“Happy new year,” Walter parrots, “will he live?”
“He will,” Scully confirms and Mulder, smiling too widely, chuffs quietly at nothing. “Any plans to spend the new year, sir?”
Walter hums, noncommittal, his eyes skittering away from them, “good work today Agents,” he says, “get some rest, you’ve both plenty of leave.”
“Skinner, sir,” Scully says and he looks back at her just as she reaches her hand out and touches his cheek. Stunned, Walter allows himself to be drawn down, until he’s leaning over enough for her to press a soft kiss to his cheek.
His heart, an old and rusty thing, lurches.
“Happy new year, sir,” she says quietly. He says nothing, her thumb brushes the corner of his mouth and then his collar before it falls away.
He looks, like a man facing the gallows, at Mulder. But his good mood seems unaffected. He leds Scully away with that hand on her back, it slips around her waist and tucks her into his side before they round the corner and are gone.