SUMMARY: *This* is my family, he thinks. DISCLAIMER: I've said it before, I'll say it again: they belong to each other, not to me.
He makes it halfway to the parking lot before he turns around.
She doesn't want me, he thinks. But I need to be there. I need to be there for *me*.
He walks through the antiseptic halls, to the sterile room with its desolate isolation chamber.
The green vial stays in his pocket as he presses his hand to the glass, watching Scully's shoulders shake, her body wrapped around the child that shouldn't be.
*This* is my family, he thinks, with an ache deeper than oceans.
Torn, ashamed, he remembers Samantha. He leans his head against the glass and weeps.