She remembers what spring used to be. Rickety swings tied to plum trees, just thick yellow twine that chafed against fingers and an old wooden board that snagged on skirts. Spring was hiding under dark pines when the rain came, the scent of pine needles everywhere, in the air, on the ground, through the trees. It was wary sunshine, afraid of the rain that always stayed close.

It was something that when thought about years later, would bring memories and nostalgia that would never go away.

Something that had been replaced by a dark office, violence and files marked "X".

The only spring she sees now is in crop circles and aliens and whatever else is encompassed by the word "x-file" as she breaks down doors and aims her gun. Nothing is innocent like it used to be.

Mulder is the only one she'll tell this to. She'll tell him one day when they're sitting in the car out in the middle of nowhere, where a stakeout has gone awry and they can go home.

And he'll look outside at the rain and the field next to them and ask her: care to join me?

Of course, he won't wait for her skepticism and questioning reply; he'll just get out of the car and know she'll eventually follow, even if it's just to drag him back to sanity.

The grass will soak her legs as she makes her way to him, and the rain will be insistent on her shoulders, seeping through her clothes. She'll question her own sanity when she can't resist grinning at the ridiculousness of it all, and doesn't immediately pull them both back to the car, because they don't have spare clothes.

She won't over-analyze his reasons for her pulling her into him, his saturated body colliding with hers, wet clothes sticking to wet clothes. They are after all, two grown adults in the middle of a field during torrential spring rain.

"Spring enough for you, Scully?" he'll ask, and she'll nod, knowing that he'll know what she meant.

And then spring will be new things, tree blossoms and wet fields and deafening rain, and sharing a cold with Mulder borne from what will be new memories, ones that will be remembered years later when you're slightly older and perhaps slightly less mobile than you used to be. It won't all be violence and x-files, you won't let that happen.

And then that'll be what spring used to be.