The room takes on a different weight when it's someplace he's going to sleep. It does, he has to admit, feel a little like an invasion on his part; if Scully had wanted him here, she would have given him an address herself. The idea of crawling under the covers of her bed has a wrongness he can't quite shake.

But the Scully who's here wants him with her, and he can't withstand that. He doesn't want to - but even if he wanted to be alone right now, he'd be a heel to abandon her to the kinds of thoughts that haunt him when it's late. She has two children and a failed relationship to ponder, as though her own Billy Pilgrim-esque presence in the future weren't enough.

The only way he can answer her gentle little demand, come here, is with acquiescence. He unbuckles his belt and steps out of his pants, pulling off his socks as well, then does the unthinkable. He lifts the covers on Scully's bed and lies down on her mattress. On his back, neither reaching for her nor making himself unavailable - the next step is up to her, whatever closeness she might want for herself.