Sometime years ago, they hit a point where his name didn't sound wrong in her mouth. Sometime around when he was introducing himself to people as Anthony Blake and working under-the-table jobs, coming home to the only person left to call him Fox, whispered in his ear at unexpected moments. They'd screw and compare notes on the day and he'd wonder without asking whether Mrs. Blake lying next to him minded that marriage had never been anything but a cover story for them.

From this vantage point, with her body rising to meet his mouth, Mulder'd like to believe he knows the answer.

"You like that?" he mumbles against her breast, letting his teeth graze the wet flesh lightly. She must have a portrait hidden away in storage in her condo somewhere, because she only gets more beautiful as the years go by. The angles of her face, the softer curves of her body - hell, she's still got a rack he figures most women would kill for. "Tell me what you want, Dana."