She sighs; but it's at least mostly a good sigh, spurred by the relief of his hand moving, her nipple tightening readily under his touch. She turns toward him like a flower to the sun, her cheek brushing his. The fingers carding through his hair slide down the back of his neck, splaying over his shoulders as she arches against him.

"I don't know," she admits. This, maybe, has always been the easiest way to be vulnerable with Mulder; pressed close, but without having to meet his eyes.

"We weren't always good for each other," she reasons. "We were so isolated for so long-- I like my condo. I like having neighbors near enough to get mad at them. But I like this, too."

Now she turns, pressing a delicate kiss to his jaw, letting go of his wrist so she can slide that hand around him, too.

"I miss... being able to see stars from the porch." It's true, and not at all what she means. She misses curling into his side, a blanket wrapped around both of their shoulders, trading bits of astronomical trivia or reminiscing about whatever crosses their mind. She misses when it was enough, to be the two of them against the world; when that felt like floating, rather than drowning.

She smiles against his cheek.

"Not having to make up excuses to call each other."