This, more than anything else, feels real. Familiar. The weight and warmth of his presence. Even the way he smells is more right than wrong; new laundry detergent, but still the same Mulder. Her heart feels like it could burst.

And she laughs, because she thinks it must be a joke, but it's true enough. She'll live, and that's what matters: whatever happens-- happened-- will happen here, she'll make it this far, and a couple of days ago she was looking at weeks, months, if she was lucky.

Her arms are tight around him, and she can't make herself pull away. She barely knows him, in a way, but she couldn't imagine feeling closer to him than she does in this moment.